"Schubert is not an island, matemoiselle. Schubert was a compatriot of mine, and made music, and played the piano, just like me."
"Ah, Schubert was a monsieur, then. Don't know him; never heard his name."
"That is a pity, matemoiselle. He had some talent. You like this better, perhaps," and he strummed,
"Messieurs les étudiants,
S'en vont à la chaumière
Pour y danser le cancan,"
striking wrong notes, and banging out a bass in a different key—a hideously grotesque performance.
"Yes, I like that better. It's gayer, you know. Is that also composed by a compatriot of yours?" asked the lady.
"Heaven forbid, matemoiselle."
And the laugh was against Svengali.
But the real fun of it all (if there was any) lay in the fact that she was perfectly sincere.
"Are you fond of music?" asked Little Billee.