Je l’ai prévu....”
And Monsieur Germaine’s hands, despoiled of gold and gems save for an amethyst on the thumb, once more struck a chord. But the Duchess did not sing. She was staring with interest at the accompanist.
“My dear Germaine, I am lost in admiration! You have grown a bust and hips! I congratulate you! You’ve really done something! While as for me—look!” She drew her hands down over her cloth costume. “I’ve got rid of all that!” She made a half-turn. “Nothing left! It’s all gone! And in the meantime you’ve been growing them! Now that’s really funny! But there’s no harm in it. One thing makes up for another.”
But René Chartier, who was playing Joconde, was standing motionless with his neck extended like a stove-pipe, thinking only of the velvet and pearls of his voice, which was deep and just a little gloomy. He grew impatient at last, remarking coldly:
“We shall never be in time; it’s deplorable!”
“Let us start from the quartette,” said Largillière.
“Tout me seconde,
Je l’ai prévu;
Pauvre Joconde!
Il est vaincu.”