"What can we go in for?"
"I will play to her," he said, in an excited tone. "Here is feeling--
genius--understanding. I will play to her, and she will understand it!" And
before I could prevent him his hand was upon the door.
A pale young man was sitting by the table, making shoes; and near him,
leaning sorrowfully upon an old-fashioned harpsichord, sat a young girl,
with a profusion of light hair falling over her bent face. Both were
cleanly but very poorly dressed, and both started and turned towards us as
we entered.
"Pardon me," said Beethoven, "but I heard music and was tempted to enter. I
am a musician."
The girl blushed and the young man looked grave--somewhat annoyed.
"I--I also overheard something of what you said," continued my friend. "You
wish to hear--that is, you would like--that is--shall I play for you?"
There was something so odd in the whole affair, and something so comic and
pleasant in the manner of the speaker, that the spell was broken in a
moment, and all smiled involuntarily.
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