Suddenly, after playing for a long while, he started from the piano, and came back to the table.

He was evidently agitated.

Before the others could say a word of thanks or wonder, I cried, in a fear of the cessation of what gave me such intense pleasure, "Oh, sing something; can't you sing ?" "Yes, I can sing," he said, looking down at me with those dangerous eyes.

"Will it give you pleasure if I sing for you ?" He did not wait for an answer, but turned back to the piano.
He had said "if I sing for you," and I knew that for me he was singing.
I do not know what it was for others, but for me, it was the only true music that I had ever heard, the only music that I could have begged might never cease, but flood over all the present and the future, satisfying every sense.

Other voices had roused and thrilled, this filled me.