When all the greetings and congratulations were over, Mozart seated himself at the piano.  He played a part of one of his concertos, which Eugenie happened to be learning.  It was a great delight to have the artist and his genius so near—­within one’s own walls.  The composition was one of those brilliant ones in which pure Beauty, in a fit of caprice, seems to have lent herself to the service of Elegance, but, only half disguised in changing forms and dazzling lights, betrays in every movement her own nobility and pours out lavishly her glorious pathos.

The Countess noticed that most of the listeners, even Eugenie herself, were divided between seeing and hearing, although they gave the close attention and kept the perfect silence which were due to such enchanting playing.  Indeed it was not easy to resist a throng of distracting and wondering thoughts as one watched the composer—­his erect, almost stiff position, his good-natured face, the graceful movements of his small hands and curved fingers.

Turning to Madame Mozart, as the playing ceased, the Count began:  “When it is necessary to give a compliment to a composer—­not everybody’s business—­how easy it is for kings and emperors.  All words are equally good and equally extraordinary in their mouths; they dare to say whatever they please.  And how comfortable it must be, for instance, to sit close behind Herr Mozart’s chair, and, at the final chord of a brilliant Fantasia, to clap the modest and learned man on the shoulder and say:  ‘My dear Mozart, you are a Jack-at-all-trades!’ And the word goes like wild-fire through the hall:  ‘What did he say?’ ’He said Mozart was a Jack-at-all-trades!’ and everybody who fiddles or pipes a song or composes is enraptured over the expression.  In short, that is the way of the great, the familiar manner of the emperors, and quite inimitable.  I have always envied the Friedrichs and the Josefs that faculty, but never more than now when I quite despair of finding in my mind’s pockets the suitable coin!”

The Count’s jest provoked a laugh, as usual, and the guests followed their hostess toward the dining-hall, where the fragrance of flowers and refreshingly cool air greeted them.  They took their places at the table, Mozart opposite Eugenie and the Baron.  His neighbor on one side was a little elderly lady, an unmarried aunt of Franziska’s; on the other side was the charming young niece who soon commended herself to him by her wit and gaiety.  Frau Constanze sat between the host and her friendly guide, the Lieutenant.  The lower end of the table was empty.  In the centre stood two large epergnes, heaped with fruits and flowers.  The walls were hung with rich festoons, and all the appointments indicated an extensive banquet.  Upon tables and side-boards were the choicest wines, from the deepest red to the pale yellow, whose sparkling foam crowns the second half of the feast.  For some time the conversation, carried on from all sides, had been general.  But when the Count, who, from the first, had been hinting at Mozart’s adventure in the garden, came mysteriously nearer and nearer to it, so that some were smiling, others puzzling their brains to know what it all meant, Mozart at last took the cue.