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The master kept quickening the time and playing with greater

power, but suddenly he struck a false chord like the hiss of a

snake, like the grating of iron on glass-it sent a shudder

through every one, and mingled with the general gaiety an

ill-omened foreboding. Disturbed and alarmed, the hearers

wondered whether the instrument might not be out of tune, or the

musician be making a blunder. Such a master had not blundered! He

purposely kept touching that traitorous string and breaking up

the melody, striking louder and louder that angry chord,

confederated against the harmony of the tones; at last the Warden

understood the master, covered his face in his hands, and cried,

"I know, I know those notes; that is Targowica!" And suddenly the

ill-omened string broke with a hiss; the musician rushed to the

treble notes, broke up and confused the measure, abandoned the

treble notes, and hurried his hammers to the bass strings.