"Cousin, does love then, commence in the eyes?"
"In them is the forge of Cupid's bolts, my dear Bertha," said the lover, casting fire and flame at her.
"Let us go on with our singing."
They then sang, by Jehan's desire, a lay of Christine de Pisan, every word of which breathed love.
"Ah! cousin, what a deep and powerful voice you have. It seems to pierce me."
"Where?" said the impudent Sylvia.
"There," replied Bertha, touching her little diaphragm, where the sounds of love are understood better than by the ears, but the diaphragm lies nearer the heart, and that which is undoubtedly the first brain, the second heart, and the third ear of the ladies. I say this, with all respect and with all honour, for physical reasons and for no others.
"Let us leave off singing," said Bertha; "it has too great an effect upon me. Come to the window; we can do needlework until the evening."
"Ah! dear cousin of my soul, I don't know how to hold the needle in my fingers, having been accustomed, to my perdition to do something else with them."
"Eh! what did you do then all day long?"