"What do you mean by 'does it go to it?'"
"Why, that air."
"I don't know. I don't even know what the air is."
"Then why do you suggest that we should take it?"
"Oh! because I often see things to that air: 'J'en guette un petit de mon âge.' I just remembered seeing it, and there are lots of couplets that are put to it."
"But the poet's lines are longer than that," remarked Bijou, "especially the second one. No—one could never sing them to that air—nor to any other."
"Ah, yes!—I did not think of that."
"Fortunately, Bijou thinks of everything," put in Pierrot, with pride.
"We'll find an air for it presently," said Jean. "Let's go on; do let's go on, or we never shall finish it. Who's on the stage at present?"
And then, as M. de Rueille was biting the end of his pen and watching Bijou, so that he did not appear to have heard, Blaye exclaimed: