"Yes, sir."
"Let me see—now sing it through to me."
"But, sir, I want a piano for the accompaniment."
(I knew there was one in the next room, on which Monsieur Poirson's daughter was learning music.)
"No, never mind; I don't want a piano."
"Yes, sir, but I do, because of my harmonies."
"Your harmonies! what harmonies? Where are they?"
"Here, sir," said I, putting my finger to my forehead.
"Oh, really! Well, never mind; sing it, all the same. I shall understand it well enough without the harmonies."
I saw there was no way out of it, so I sang it through.