The brown house, almost exactly the same as the Beck’s, turned black as pitch in the gloom. “Who can tell?” she said. " Sheppard's name operated like magic on the crowd. It was as if she had come upon the beautiful marble façade of a fairy palace, was invited to enter, and behind the door—nothing. Let’s go. He knocked on the doorframe. They almost made me feel like they were mine. What was it in her heart or mind or soul that went out to this man? Music—was that it? Was he powerless to stir her without the gift? But hadn't he fascinated her by his talk, gentle and winning? Ah, but that had been after he had played for her. ‘Wait, Jacques! I will find the way to open this.
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