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Ormarr was cool and calm as ever, but pale as a ghost. The music raced away madly into the waltz, laughing and crying in complete abandon.

A feeling of something uncanny seized the audience for a second; as if icy waters had overwhelmed them in flood, depriving them of movement, suffocating all cries for help.

Grahl rose to his feet, and opened his mouth as if to cry aloud. Then he fell back in his chair, without a sound.

Suddenly Ormarr stopped playing; his arms fell to his sides, and he stood on the platform laughing—a tremulous, uneasy laugh. Then he turned and fled.

A storm of shouts and noise rose up from the audience. The silence of enraptured listeners had given place to the confusion of a disturbed ant-hill. Some questioned, others raged, a few broke down entirely.

“Scandalous!” “Mad!” sounded through the din. Several minutes passed before any thought of leaving. Then suddenly the word “dead” began to circulate. And gradually the crowd grew quiet, and dispersed, moved to forgiveness by the thought that the madman had ceased to live. Only a few were aware that it was not the player who was dead.