They gazed at him in astonishment.
He drew a full breath and drove it forth, a lugubrious note. With scowling brows and set face he darted the instrument back and forth across his puckered lips. It wailed and shrieked, and out of the noise and discord emerged, at a galloping trot, "Der Erlkönig!"
The child, who had been regarding him intently, threw back her head, and a little laugh broke from her lips. Her face danced. She came and stood by the player, her hand resting on his knee.
Herr Schubert puffed and blew, and "The Erlking" pranced and thumped. Now and then he stumbled and fell, and the fugitives flew fast ahead.
The player's face was grave beyond belief, filled with a kind of fat melancholy, and tinged with tragic intent.
The faces watching it passed from question to amusement, and from amusement to protest.
"Nein, nein, mein Herr!" said the countess, as she wiped her mild blue eyes and shook her blond curls. "Nicht mehr! nicht mehr!"
With a deep, snorting sob the sound ceased. The comb dropped from his lips, and the player sat regarding them solemnly. A smile curved his big lips.
"Ja," he said simply, "that was great music. I have made it myself, that music."
With laughter and light words the party broke up. At a touch from the count the musician lingered. The others had left the room.