He turned and brought a lyre that lay on a table near them.

She took it in her hands.

Then it seemed as if her sorrow fell upon the strings, and in their music was the voice of her soul.
He bowed before her, whispering a prayer; he put all his soul into one long look and quickly went away.
Then she rose and ran to the end of the banquet-hall.

"I can hear his voice," she whispered.

"No, I must not go--I must not go." A moment followed in which there came to her a sound of distant voices.
She stilled her sobs and listened.