"Come, we must not be cast down," said she, with sudden gaiety, for she was full of impulses; and shaking back her rich golden hair, while her beautiful dark eyes sparkled with love and light, she opened the piano, and ran her rapid little fingers over the ivory keys.
"I shall sing to you."
"Thanks, Georgette."
"But what shall it be?"
"Whatever you please."
"Well then,—
Ah, ça ira, ça ira, ça ira!
Les aristocrats à la lanterns!"
"Georgette!"
"What is the matter?"
"Can you profane your dear lips by a song so horrible?"