“Yes, tell me.”
“Well, the Duke of St. Etienne whilst they so loudly applauded you bent forward to his cousin and said: ‘Oui, elle chanté très-bien, mais elle a le timbre de la voix un peu dour.’ And the amiable little cousin covered her face to hide her Homeric laugh.”
“Dur or dour, I must get up an hour earlier, or else you will drive me mad. My day will be a happy one, and I shall have you to thank for it. A thousand thanks, you master of French!”
To know the reason of this sudden burst of anger, why from being slightly keen the conversation became suddenly bitter, and the notes from sharp became acute, you must understand that the cousin of the duke was, from position, youth, and beauty, the official rival of the lady who pronounced u as ou.
⁂
They are both seated at the table with their four children, their ages ranging from five to twelve years. She, the mother, is helping them all. He is watching the distribution of a delicious custard. From time to time he frowns, and shakes his head in sign of disapprobation.
And this pantomime continued so long that at last she became aware of it, and in her turn looked at him crossly and put down the spoon.
“What is the matter? Some new criticism?”
“Yes, but it’s no new subject of complaint. For some time past I have noticed the thing every day at breakfast, dinner, and supper, and if I have not given utterance to my dislike, it has been to avoid any unpleasantness; but to-day it seems as if I were losing patience.”
“Lose it; I will pick it up.”