And thus she spake, in a gentle, drawn-out manner, half-pleading, half-scolding in tone:

"Pas—trop—vite!"--"Not—so—fast!"

to the man who appeared to be the pianist’s sole instance of security. He stretched his arms out on either side of her, as if to protect her from getting crushed by that excited but polite little throng, but also to hustle her away from them. Her admirers had been waiting for up to an hour-and-a-half when the Argentinian firebrand finally emerged onto the dark sidewalk along 56th Street, "backstage" at Carnegie Hall.

The security fellow seemed to have annoyed the pianist a tad with his haste. Speaking in French, he had told her that it was now time to leave for the restaurant with Mischa et les autres. She had already been graciously signing autographs and posing for pictures for some ten minutes now when the security person made his comment about dinner, which then prompted her retort.

For the next ten, fifteen minutes, she happily obliged the rest of the group, signing each and every program, CD booklet, address book, piece of cardboard, what-have-you that was held out in front of her, taking the time to make sure she spelled the name in the dedication correctly for those who requested such, and all the while smiling warmly and occasionally engaging in brief or extended chit-chat. One could hear her slip easily into Spanish or English or French as the situation required.

When all materials had finally received their precious scribblings via marker and ink pen, she stepped off the curb to collect Mischa, who had been standing off to the side talking with the others in their party. A cheerful "Thank you very much!" to the small crowd was heard from her, which drew spontaneous applause and soft cries of "Bravo!" and "Thank you!" from her fans who watched as she and Mischa strolled arm-in-arm to the corner of 56th and Seventh, waiting to cross the street along with a few other pals.