His fingers raced over the keys. A running accompaniment in the bass suggested the army sleeping. A high note, the bugle call, suddenly burst forth followed instantaneously by shouts, the stir of troops awakening and moving to and fro, and the neighing of horses....
"Bravo!"
Reminiscences no doubt of melodies he had composed or learnt. His rare skill soldered them into a sort of pot-pourri, which was at the same time both genial and burlesque. He jerked out the titles of motifs: the start at dawn, the approach of the enemy, the deployment, then the surprise of the first shots, the scattering, and the reply.... The pianist's fancy multiplied and expanded, painting an extraordinary picture. In the left hand, the cannon rumbled ceaselessly in hollow tones. In the treble a frenzy of staccato notes crackled like a fusillade. Between the two, smothered vociferations, and the trampling of the combatants could be distinguished. To end up with there was the charge, swelling harmonies, and a roar of glory and madness, throughout which fragments of the famous "La Goutte à boire!!!" recurred persistently.
Miquel paused. There was a burst of applause.
"Hush!" he said. "Wait for the day after...."
He struck a minor chord, succeeded by two or three others, equally lugubrious, a gloomy arpeggio strengthened the impression of mourning.... The day after! yes. There was a slight shudder. I recognised Beethoven's Funeral March.
"How idiotic! What are you playing that for?"
Denais had got up, and was drawing his hand across his forehead. Then embarrassed by our glances he forced a wry smile.
"Rotting apart, it's not exactly cheerful!"
A few backed him up. Others shrugged their shoulders. A discussion began which degenerated into an uproar. Laraque took possession of the piano and romped through a "tango" which was applauded. Miquel was called upon again; but he refused point blank this time, and it was not very long before he left, perhaps because he was offended.