At the little town of Züllichau, finding they had an hour to wait for horses, Professor Jarocki proposed a walk through the place. This did not take long, and as the horses were not ready when they returned, the Professor sat down to a meal—the post-house being also a restaurant—but Frederic, as if drawn by a magnet, went into the next room, and saw—oh, wonder of wonders!—a grand piano. Professor Jarocki, who could see through the open door, laughed to himself when his young friend opened the instrument, which had a very unpromising exterior; Chopin also looked at it with some misgivings; but when he had struck a few chords he exclaimed, in joyful surprise, “O Santa Cæcilia, the piano is in tune.” Only the impassioned musician knows what it is, after sitting for several days in a diligence, suddenly, and quite unexpectedly, to have an opportunity of playing on a good instrument. [Sidenote: PLAYING AT A POST-HOUSE.] Regardless of his surroundings our artist began to improvise _con amore_. Attracted by the music, one of the travellers got up and stood behind the playerʼs chair. Chopin called out to Professor Jarocki, in Polish, “Now we shall see whether my listener be a connoisseur or not.” Frederic began his Fantasia on Polish Songs (op. 13); the traveller, a German, stood like one petrified, captivated by this music, so new and bewitching; his eyes mechanically followed every movement of the pianistʼs delicate hand; he had forgotten everything, even his beloved pipe, which went out unheeded. The other travellers stepped in softly, and at the same time the tall postmaster and his buxom wife appeared at the side door with their two pretty daughters behind them. Frederic, unmindful of his audience, and absorbed in converse with his muse, had lost all thought of where he was, and that he must soon be on his way. More and more tender and graceful became his playing; the fairies seemed to be singing their moon-light melodies; everyone was listening in rapt attention to the elegant arabesques sparkling from his fingers, when a stentorian voice, which made the windows rattle, called out, “The horses are ready, gentlemen.” “Confounded disturber,” roared the postmaster, while the triplet of ladies cast angry glances at the postilion. Chopin sprang from his seat, but was immediately surrounded by his audience, who exclaimed with one voice: “Go on, dear sir, finish that glorious piece, which we should have heard all through but for that tiresome man.” “But,” replied Chopin, consulting his watch, “we have already been here some hours, and are due in Posen shortly.” “Stay and play, noble young artist,” cried the postmaster, “I will give you couriersʼ horses if you will only remain a little longer.” “Do be persuaded,” began the postmasterʼs wife, almost threatening him with an embrace. What could Frederic do but sit down again to the instrument?