immediately assumed the beatific expression he usually kept for Caruso.
After the first few notes, an air of bewilderment appeared upon his kindly face. He looked at Aurelle, whom he was surprised to find quite unmoved; at Colonel Parker, who was hard at work; at the doctor, who was inclining his head and listening devoutly; and, resigning himself to his fate, he waited for the end of the acidulated and discordant noises.
"Well, Messiou," he said when it was over, "it's very nice of you not to have forgotten us—but——"
"Yes," put in Colonel Parker, looking up, "but I'm damned if it's music!"
"What?" shouted the doctor, scandalized. "A masterpiece like that? Not music?"
"Come, come," said the general soothingly, "maybe it wasn't written for the gramophone. But, doctor, I should like you to explain."
"Have you seen the Russian Ballet, sir? The faun, lying on a rock, is watching for the nymphs and playing in a monotonous key on his flute. At last they appear, half dressed; he pursues them, but they fly away, and one of them drops a sash, which is all he gets."
"This is very interesting," said the general, much excited. "Wind up the gramophone, Messiou, and give us the disc over again; I want to see the half-dressed nymphs. Make a sign to me at the right moment."
Once again the instrument filled the rustic dug-out with the wistful grace of the Prelude. Aurelle murmured in a low voice:
"Ce nymphes, je les veux perpétuer, si clair
Leur incarnat léger qu'il voltige dans l'air
Assoupi de sommeils touffus...."