Immediately on the conclusion of the overture several professors left the table and clustered round the pianoforte. One opened it, and then Milans-André approached, and waving his creamy gloves, unclothed his hands, and stood at the front of the platform. Some boisterous shouts arose,--they began near his station, and were imitated from the middle benches; but there was an undemonstrative coldness even in these; they seemed from the head, not the heart, as one might say. The artist did not appear distressed,--indeed, he looked too classically self-reliant to require encouragement. He was what might be called extremely handsome. There was a largeness about his features that would have told well in a bust,--they were perfectly finished; also a Phidias could not have planed another polish on the most oval nostril, a Canova could not have pumiced unparted lips to more appropriate curve. His eyes were too far for me to search, but I did not long to come at their full expression. He stood elegantly, while the plaudits made their way among the muffling leaves, and therein went to sleep; the golden flowers of the lindens hung down withering, smitten by the terror of his presence! My companion--to my surprise, my bewilderment even--applauded also, but, as it were, mechanically; he stood beside me on that topmost tier applauding, but his eyes were still fixed upon the roof. I heard his voice among the others, and it was just at that instant that some one, and _that_ some one in a professor's robe, a gentleman of sage demeanor, started from one of the lower tiers and looked back suddenly at him; as suddenly fired, flushed, lighted, all over his face, wise and grave as it was. _He_ saw not, still rapt, still looking upwards; but I saw and felt,--felt certain of the impressions received. A sort of whisper crept along the tier,--a portentous thrill; one and another, all turned, and before I could gather with my glance who had left them, several seats were voided beneath us. In a few minutes I heard a long and silver thundering chord. I knew it was the reveille of the wonderful Milans-André; but so many persons were standing and running that I could not see, and could scarcely hear. Soon all must have heard less. As the keys continued to flash in unmitigated splendor, a rushing noise seemed arising also from the floor to the ceiling; it was, indeed, an earnest of my own pent-up enthusiasm that could not be repressed, for I found myself shouting, hurrahing beneath my breath, as all did around me. I was not mistaken; some one opened the door by which we had entered, gustily, violently, and drew my companion away. Before I thought of losing him, he was gone,--I knew not whether led or carried; I knew not whether aroused or in the midst of his high abstraction.