“Oh!” said Monsieur Mille, bashfully hanging his head, his cheeks round and red as apples.
“Yes, absolutely worthy of Jean Baptiste,” repeated Madame. “They must be set to the tune of 'Le serin qui te fait envie.'”[[10]]
[10]. The canary which spurs you to rivalry.
“You are too flattering,” Monsieur Mille replied. “Permit me, Madame Berthemet, to present to you my friend Pierre Aubier, a Limousin gentleman. He is a man of parts, and will soon be accustomed to the ways of Paris.”
“The dear creature,” Madame Berthemet rejoined, as she pressed my hand. “Let him come to see us. You must bring him, Monsieur Mille. We have a little music always on Thursdays. Is he fond of music? But what a foolish question! Only a barbarian given over to every savage passion could fail to love music. Come this next Thursday, Monsieur Aubier; my daughter Amélie will sing you a ballad.”
As she spoke, Madame Berthemet motioned to a young lady dressed in white, with a Greek headdress, whose fair hair and blue eyes seemed to me the loveliest in the world. I blushed as I bowed. But she did not appear to notice my embarrassment.
As we returned to the Puybonne mansion I did not attempt to conceal from Monsieur Mille the profound impression the beauty of this charming creature had made on me.
“In that case,” replied Monsieur Mille, “I shall have to add a strophe to my ode.”