“You did a brave thing,” he said.

“I only did what was necessary,” I said. “The house belongs to the music now.”

I walked back inside, leaving the door wide open to let the warm spring breeze flow through the halls.

From the east wing, the first tentative notes of a Chopin nocturne began to drift through the house.

The piano was slightly out of tune in the upper register, but the sound was clear, vibrant, and entirely free.