"En fouillant le passé"....
repeated the tenor, with the utmost severity of emphasis.
"Mais, mon Dieu, Rosalie! what are you doing?" cried Madame Desjardins, angrily. "Why don't you go on?"
Mdlle. Rosalie burst into a flood of tears.
"I--I can't!" she sobbed. "It's so--so very difficult--and"...
Madame Desjardins flung up her hands in despair.
"Ciel!" she cried, "and I have been paying three francs a lesson for you, Mademoiselle, twice a week for the last six years!"
"Mais, maman"....
"Fi done, Mademoiselle! I am ashamed of you. Make a curtsey to Monsieur Philomène this moment, and beg his pardon; for you have spoiled his beautiful song!"
But Monsieur Philomène would hear of no such expiation. His soul, to use his own eloquent language, recoiled from it with horror! The accompaniment, à vrai dire, was not easy, and la bien aimable Mam'selle Rosalie had most kindly done her best with it. Allons donc!--on condition that no more should be said on the subject, Monsieur Philomène would volunteer to sing a little unaccompanied romance of his own composition--a mere bagatelle; but a tribute to "les beaux yeux de ces chères dames!"