“Fool,” continued M. Gerbaut, “you sang to him.”
“Did I do wrong, father?”
“Certainly not. As long as you sing to your equals, and without affectation, well and good. You know what I mean?”
Sophie bent her eyes, blushing.
“We must change our quarters, I think,” said Father Gerbaut, half smiling, half serious.
“Wherefore?” said I, breaking into the conversation.
“Because we are just opposite to the ‘Hotel de Bras d’Or,’ where many handsome young gentlemen put up, and who are fond of music as a vehicle for making love.”
“Oh, father!” murmured Sophie; “say not so!”
“What would you have?” cried M. Gerbaut. “They are no friends of mine who would bring trouble into peaceful families. When I understood that the princes and great lords had left the country, I had hoped that these gentlemen would have gone in their train. But no; they stay to make love to our wives and daughters, and to conspire against the nation. But this is not the time to speak of that. This is a fête day for Varennes. I must pay a visit to the cellar and larder. After dinner we will have a dance. Will you be Sophie’s partner?” said M. Gerbaut to me.
“I should be only too happy,” cried I; “but perhaps Mdlle. Sophie does not think a young apprentice worthy of offering her his arm?”