“You are right, father,” proudly replied Wolfgang. His sense of honor was now aroused for the first time, as could be seen by his flashing eyes. “I will make them hear me, and once they listen I shall succeed.” Boldly advancing to the card-table, he bowed, and said to the King: “Will Your Majesty have the kindness to give me a theme for improvising?” The King looked up with surprise, for it now occurred to him he had been so engrossed with card-playing that he had utterly forgotten the children. “Ah, it is you, is it?” said he. “What do you wish?” “He wishes you would give him a theme for improvising,” promptly replied the Princess Adelaide. The King, with an exclamation of surprise, cast a searching glance at Wolfgang. “Certainly,” said he. “Try this,” humming a melody from a favorite opera at that time. “I hope to satisfy Your Majesty,” replied Wolfgang, with confidence, as he returned to the piano. The King’s attention had been aroused by the boldness of the child, and although he did not stop his game, he heard Wolfgang’s playing just the same. Suddenly he laid down his cards, arose, and said to those around him, “This is really extraordinary.” Wolfgang heard him, and there was a gleam of triumph in his face. He continued playing with increasing beauty, power, and brilliancy, and closed with a technical display surpassing anything ever before exhibited. Now all were attentive. Only the tones of Wolfgang’s music were heard in the great hall. The Queen and the princesses listened with delight. Tears of sympathy stood in Princess Victoire’s eyes. The King remained standing, overcome with astonishment, and now and then passed his hand over his brow as if to convince himself he was not dreaming. As the last note died away, his loud “brava” was the signal for such a storm of applause as had never been heard at Versailles before. Princess Victoire, unmindful of Court etiquette, rushed to Wolfgang, embraced him, and kissed him repeatedly. Besides the Queen, there was another lady present who at that time had great influence with the King, and consequently was all-powerful at Court—the famous Marquise de Pompadour. Like the rest, she was overcome by the fascinating performance, and expressing to the King her wish to see the boy more closely, he brought Wolfgang to her. “A little man,” said she, “but a great genius notwithstanding. Put him on the table.” This was done. When the beautiful Marquise—for she was really an exceedingly beautiful woman—looked at him with her large, brilliant eyes and smiled, Wolfgang bent forward to kiss her. He was not a little surprised, however, when she drew back and turned herself away. He could not restrain his impetuous disposition, and in his deep mortification he cried out contemptuously: “Ah, who is this that will not kiss me? Has not the Empress kissed me?”