With his instrument he imitated the sound of a laughing voice, high up above the monotonous chord: softly at first, as though far in the distance; then louder and nearer, the sustaining notes of the minor falling away one after the other and losing themselves, as the merriment gained ground on the sadness; till finally, with a burst of life and vitality of which it would be impossible to convey any idea, the whole body of mirth broke into a wild tarantella movement, so vivid and elastic and noisy that it seemed to Nino that he saw the very feet of the dancers, and heard the jolly din of the tambourine and the clattering, clappering click of the castanets.
"That," said Benoni, suddenly stopping, "is life with laughter, be it ever so sad and monotonous before.

Which do you prefer ?" "You are the greatest artist in the world!" cried Nino, enthusiastically; "but I should have been a raving madman if you had played that chord any longer." "Of course," said Benoni, "and I should have gone mad if I had not laughed.

Poor Schumann, you know, died insane because he fancied he always heard one note droning in his ears." "I can understand that," said Nino.

"But it is late, and I must be going home.

Forgive my rudeness and reluctance to come with you.