"That night, I ran back the four miles home without a word. Feelings of shame, cowardice, anger and guilt came to me altogether and haunted me until the next day. The following day, my teacher had had the discretion of not discussing the matter with me. Every hour, every minute and every second that went by, I'd wished I'd known how to apologize to Stefania for my unforgivable stupidity. But the simple thought of facing her again made me lose all hope. I had stopped all my activities and lessons for the rest of the week when one afternoon, my teacher struck lightly at my door and told me there was a telegram for me. He slid the letter under my door and left without further comment. The envelope was blue and appeared to be paper of the best quality. I picked it up and detected the marvelous scent of a woman's perfume. The handwriting was beautiful and my name seemed to be carefully and delicately carved on it. My head started to spin. My heart beat in an infernal rhythm as I opened the letter. Inside was a paper of the same color and quality and it was signed by Stefania Meyer.
"I read her short message again and again, analyzing carefully the weight of each word to assure myself that I was not dreaming. She was apologizing for her behavior of the other night, saying that it was childish and asked me if I would be kind enough to come visit her next Saturday so she could be sure that I didn't held any grudges against her. Tears fell from my eyes upon the discovery of such noble mind. I was the monster worthy of contempt and she was asking for my indulgence. I wrote back an answer immediately and ran to the only florist's shop in town to order that all available roses be sent every day to Stefania until the next Saturday. I didn't know how much it would cost me but I would have sold my piano if need be.
"The next Saturday, at exactly 2:00 p.m., I was ringing at the Meyer's mansion. Luther, their old butler, showed me into the parlor with a friendly smile. I waited there for five minutes in a complete silence when I heard the clinking of a wheelchair. Stefania entered the room pushed by Ekaterina. Her face was pale and her long quasi black hair fell around her fragile shoulders. I stood still, not knowing what to say. Stefania raised her eyes, thanked me for all the flowers with a shy smile and started questioning me about my music. She was eager to know how it felt to be a child prodigy. Ekaterina joined in the conversation and soon after we were laughing, joking and talking about everything as if nothing had happened the other night.
"Later on, at Stefania's request, we went into the ballroom where stood a magnificent grand piano. The girls told me about their love of classical piano and expressed their desire of hearing me play. It was an unexpected chance for me to redeem my mistake. I played for them all the romantic pieces that the greatest composers had ever written for their beloved. I'd played what Beethoven had composed for Elise, the 21st piano concerto of Mozart dedicated to Elvira, Shuman's 'Lament' for Clara and of course, the Fantasy-Impromptu of Chopin. For the last piece, I'd played my own transcription of Schubert's 'Quartet for strings in C major' which many great composers wanted to be buried to its melody and which can make an atheist believe in God.
"From that day on, I visited Stefania frequently and soon became a regular visitor of the Meyers. I would spend the whole afternoon with her, joined sometimes by Ekaterina before dinner where I would sit next to the Count himself. Every day, Stefania would tell me how she was waiting impatiently for my visit and recalled to me what she did in the morning. I found out that she had a passion, art, which was something completely unknown to me. Since her accident, this passion has grown and become more than ever a part of her life. It was art that gave her joy and hope that Fate had taken away from her one afternoon while she was horse-riding. During our conversations, she would tell me at length about art's history and especially about the Florentine and Roman Renaissance era. She taught me how to appreciate Giotto's expressive realism, how much Michelangelo had admired Brunelleschi's dome of the Santa Maria del Fiore and how Leonardo da Vinci's unpublished notes had required a mirror for reading it for that genius had written left-handed in a reversed-script. But her favorite artist was Raphael. Her room was adorned with a life-size reproduction of Raphael's Stanza in front of which we would discuss for hours about his idea of presenting in a single composition Philosophy, Theology, Science and Art. It was at that time that I realized that I'd given way, little by little, to Stefania's charm. She was not the kind of girl you fall in love with at first sight, but the sound of her laughs, her smile and some expressions of her face could draw you in irresistibly.
