"No."
"But you look so pale."
"I am tired."
"You must be ill; where do you feel pain?"
"Everywhere!—Come, Aunt, don't disturb me, I am composing."
"Ah!"
"Oh! there is nothing like the rolling of a carriage to give ideas."
"Aha! That's different; well, well, I didn't know."
And she left me to compose at my ease. Then, after a silence:
"Why did A—— turn so pale when P—— began to sing: 'Knowst thou the land?'"