"Prudence, rather."
"Surely you will depart from your habit this evening, and sing in company?"
"Oh, no! I should not dare to, before you."
"Why so? do I frighten you?"
"You do something very different."
She smiled, as she smiled at the ball. Ah! how sweet she was at that moment!
But somebody spoke to her, and I was separated from her again. Someone was going to sing, and silence was requested; I took a seat behind two consummately ugly women, who would not distract my thoughts.
The singer was a man, a stout, square-shouldered young man, who struck an attitude like Monsieur Keller as Hercules. I expected a voice that would make our ears ring and the windows rattle; surely nothing different could come from that colossus. In truth, at the first note everybody shuddered. What a voice! indeed, I doubt if it could be called a voice. For my part, I could think of nothing but the roaring of a bull. But there were some people who thought it magnificent. He sang an aria from Robert le Diable. The two ladies in front of me emitted ohs! and ahs! which led me to believe that they agreed with me and that the performance deafened them; especially as the singer, not content with bursting our ear drums, was almost invariably off the pitch; he sang false with imperturbable assurance. There were moments when he put forth such a volume of voice that I wondered if people passing through the street would not think that a crime was being committed in the house.
At last the performance came to an end. The two ladies turned toward me with smiling faces, and I could not help saying:
"I prefer an orchestra with four drums. I don't know yet whether I have any ears left; I believe they are split."