"Why not make room in it for your froide Ibérie? It would be just the place for it."
Adolphe turned on his heels and went off to sing my couplet to Lafarge.
Lafarge listened to it, winking his eyes.
"Ah! ah! ah!" he cried, "did Dumas compose that?"
"Yes, he made it."
"Are you sure he did not crib it from somewhere?"
Then, with touching confidence, Adolphe replied—
"I am quite certain of it: I know every patriotic couplet that has been sung in every theatre in Paris, and I tell you this one has never yet been sung."
"Then it is a fluke, and he will soon be undeceived."
De la Ponce read the couplet too; it tickled his soldierly taste, remainding him of 1814, and he took an early opportunity to compliment me on it.