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Taking Marius at his word, I walked away froht, ly over the flowers, and I listened for the chords of Sybelle's Sonata to lead me to the proper house

Within seconds I heard the ro assai, or the First Move

It was played with an unusual ringing preciseness, indeed, a new languid cadence which gave it a powerful and ruby-red authority which I immediately loved

So I hadn't scaredand perhaps falling in love with the drowsy humid loveliness of New Orleans as so many of us have

I sped at once to the location, and found , only a little e three-story redbrick house in Metairie, a countrified suburb of New Orleans which is actually very close to the city, with a feel that can be miraculously remote

The giant oaks which Marius described were all around this new American mansion, and, as he had pro clean panes were open to the early breeze

The grass was long and soft beneath ht, so very precious to Marius, poured forth from everyas did thewith exceptional grace into the Second Movement of the work but quickly works itself into the same madness as all the rest

I stopped in my tracks to listen to it I had never heard the notes quite as li and exquisitely distinct I tried for sheer pleasure to divine the differences between this performance and so ical and profoundly affecting, but this was passing spectacular, helped in slight rand

For aht before I let myself relive it, as we say so innocently, and then with a positive blush of pleasant shock, I realized that I didn't have to tell anyone about it, that it was all dictated to David and that when he gave me my copies, I could entrust them to whomever I loved, ould ever want to knohat I'd seen

As for ure it out I couldn't The feeling was too strong that whom I had seen on the road to Calvary, whether He was real or a figuilty heart, had not wanted me to see Hi of rejection was so total that I could scarce believe that I had ed to describe it to David

I had to get the thoughts out of my mind I banished all reverberations of this experience and letunder the oaks, with the eternal river breeze, which can reach you anywhere in this place, coolingme feel that the Earth itself was filled with irrepressible beauty, even for someone such as I

The music of the Third Moveht my heart would break

It was only then, as the final bars were played out, that I realized so which should have been obvious to me from the start

It wasn't Sybelle playing this music It couldn't be I knew every nuance of Sybelle's interpretations I knew her modes of expression; I knew the tonal qualities that her particular touch invariably produced Though her interpretations were infinitely spontaneous, nevertheless I knew herof another or the style of a painter's work This wasn't Sybelle

And then the real truth dawned on er Sybelle