Pushing aside the music-stands and opening the piano, she led her reluctant mother to the piano-stool. Ah, she was such a determined little person! The Minister hesitated a moment with his finger on the page of the duet—what if any one should hear them? Never mind; there had been rehearsals going on every day in the big salon.... They began.
They were singing together from the same sheet of music as they stood, while Mme. Bachellery played from memory. Their heads were almost touching, their breaths mingled together with caressing modulations of the music. Numa got excited and dramatic, raising his arms to bring out the high notes. For many years now, ever since his political life had absorbed him, he had done more talking than singing. His voice had become heavy like his figure, but he still loved to sing, especially with this child.
He had completely forgotten the Bishop of Tulle and the Superior Council which was wearily awaiting him round the big green table. Several times the pallid face of the chamberlain on duty, his official silver chain clanking, peered into the room but quickly disappeared again, terrified lest he should be caught gazing at the Minister of Public Instruction and Religions singing a duet with an actress from one of the minor theatres. But a Minister Numa was no longer, only Vincent the basket-maker pursuing the unapproachable Magali through all her coquettish transformations. And how well she fled! how well, with childish malice, she did make her escape, her ringing laughter clear as pearls rippling over her sharp little teeth, until at last, overcome, she yields and her mad little head, made dizzy by her rapid course, sinks on her lover’s shoulder!...
Mme. Bachellery broke the charm and recalled them to their senses as soon as the song was finished. Turning round, she cried:
“What a voice, Excellency! What a noble voice!”
“Yes, I used to sing when I was young” he said, somewhat fatuously.
“But you still sing maganifisuntly! Say, Baby, what a contrast to M. de Lappara!”
Baby, who was rolling up her music, shrugged her shoulders as much as to say, that was too much of a truism to be discussed or to need further answer. A little anxious, Roumestan asked:
“Indeed? M. de Lappara?”
“O, he sometimes comes to eat bouillabaise with us; then after dinner Baby and he sing duets together.”