I found the countess at the piano, playing the Jungfrau Maria, a piece I had not heard since it was played by my sister Nadja. “Oh, I am so glad.” The countess’s face flushed. “I adore the cello, and those encores you played at the concert. Oh, you must love to play them. I look forward so much to playing with you,” she said. She looked pretty. / “Here is my favourite – I simply adore it.” She showed me the music. “It is for the piano. Do you think we could play it together?” / “Yes, of course. I will play the upper line.” It was the Autumn Song, by Tchaikovsky. We played the piece until it was time to change for dinner. I will not describe our musical sessions of that afternoon and all the other afternoons, except that we never played or tried to play anything but the Autumn Song. She was madly, frantically in love with it, and in her passion she was blind to my sufferings. << less