It bore down upon the barriers that stood between him
and Lucia, and swept them away too. And the secret sources of his
inspiration, sealed for so many months, were opened and flowed with
the flowing of the stream; and over them the deep flood of his longing
and his misery rose and broke and mingled with the tumult. And through
it, and high above it all, it was as if his soul made music with her;
turning the Sonata Appassionata into a singing of many voices, a
symphony of many strings.
So lost was he that he failed to perceive the effect of her playing on
the audience of the outer room. Flossie sat there, very quiet in her
awe; Miss Bishop kept her loose mouth open, drinking in the sounds;
Mr. Soper leaned forward breathing heavily in a stupid wonder; there,
over the tops of the chairs, one up-standing ribbon on Miss Bramble's
cap seemed to be beating time to the music all by itself; while Mrs.
Downey flushed and swelled with pride at the astonishing capabilities
of her piano. He did not notice either that, as Lucia played the
tender opening bars of the Sonata, Mr. Partridge shook off the slumber
that bound him at this hour; that, as she struck the thundering chords
that signal the presto Finale, he raised his head like an old
war-horse at the sound of the trumpet. He stared solemnly at Lucia as
she came forward followed by Rickman; then he rose from his own
consecrated chair, heavily but with a certain dignity suited to the
moral grandeur of the act, and made a gesture of abdication.
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