"Yes—and the name .... it begins with a P."
"With a P! I must go instantly Where can I procure a ticket?"
"At the bureau opposite."
In a moment I had rushed across the street, and had the ticket.
At the door of the concert hall I found the crowd so great I could not force my way in. I was compelled to stand outside with the others. Gradually I edged myself nearer. The tutti of the last composition was ended; the solo—apollacca—began.
The tones struck deep in my heart. I had heard them before; they were unforgotten. But what a miracle! Do two play—or three? That I have never heard. No, I could not trust my ears. If I might but see the player! but gain one look! In vain! the crowd surged against the open door, yet none could make way through the swaying mass. At least I could hear now—and I lost not one note.
The music ceased, and a thunder-burst of applause shook the building. I pressed forward again, striving to get a sight of the player; but others, equally eager, pushed before me. I was again disappointed. With swelling heart I waited, impatient to hear him commence again.
At last: "Now he plays on the G string," said some one near me. He began. I was not deceived. That was the very melody I heard in prison! Those were the self-same tones that once—calming, elevating, faith-inspiring, as if sent direct from heaven—sent light into my gloomy soul!
With renewed efforts I forced my way into the hall. I saw once more the pale, melancholy brow, the sunken eyes, the long, dark hair, the attenuated cheeks, the enfeebled aspect of the whole person. It was HE! The mystery of eighteen years was at length solved. The stranger who had so charmed my soul, filling me with feelings unutterable—who had ceaselessly accompanied me since, like a veiled phantom—familiar, yet from which I could not tear the covering stood before me. I heard—I saw—PAGANINI!