He was in ecstasy over his power
and its accomplishment. The strings of the violin pulsated to the
beating of his heart, and he felt that surely by now the emotion
which shook him must have reached the girl who had given it life--
and, for one swift second, his eyes sought hers. What he saw was the
same beautiful face which had inspired him, but unmoved, cold, and
unresponsive. As his eyes followed hers she raised her head and
looked, listlessly, around the room, and then turned and glanced up
at him with a careless and critical scrutiny. If his music had been
the music of an organ in the street, and he the man who raised his
hat for coppers, she could not have been less moved. The discovery
struck Edouard like a cold blast from an open door. His fingers
faltered on the neck of his violin, his bow wavered, drunkenly,
across the strings, and he turned away his eyes to shut out the
vision of his failure, seeking relief and sympathy. And, in their
swift passage, they encountered those of Corbin looking up at him,
his eyes aglow with wonder, feeling, and sorrow. They seemed to hold
him to account; they begged, they demanded of him not to break the
spell, and, in response, the hot blood in the veins of the musician
surged back, his pride flared up again, his eyes turned on Corbin's
like those of a dog to his master's.
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