Ronnie felt his fingers flying, yet pressing deeply as they flew.
The right foot of the figure, placed further back than the left, was slightly raised.

The heel was off the floor.
Ronnie's right heel was also lifted.
Then, looking past the figure in the chair, he marked behind him, where in the reflection of the studio should have been the door, heavy black curtains hanging in sombre folds.

And, even as Ronnie noticed these, they parted; and the lovely face of a woman looked in.
As Ronnie saw that face he remembered many things--things of exquisite joy, things of poignant sorrow; things inexpressible except in music, unutterable except in tone.
The 'cello sobbed, and wailed, and sang itself slowly into a minor theme; yet the passion of the minor was more subtle, sweeter far, than the triumph of the major.
The woman glided in.
Ronnie watched her.

She came and softly stood behind the Florentine chair.
Apparently she made no sound.

The 'cellist did not raise his eyes.