“Yes, I see that you take a great deal of trouble to entertain us.”
“Oh! when they once begin to burn well!—Théodore, Monsieur Théodore, will you be kind enough not to touch the cakes! For shame! A great boy of your age!—He is more of a glutton than his little brother.”
“Let me take one, papa; I want it to play at having dinner.”
“Play at having dinner, at eleven years! Aren’t you ashamed? Don’t touch the cake.—But it’s very slow inside! My wife don’t know how to keep things going. We ought to begin to dance. Monsieur Blémont, it would be very kind of you to start the dancing.”
“You know very well that I don’t play the piano.”
“No, but you might tell my wife to ask somebody to play a contradance. We don’t lack players.”
“Before I do your errand, pray tell me who that pretty young woman in pink is who was sitting near the piano?”
“In pink, near the piano—with gold ornaments in her hair?”
“No, she hasn’t any gold in her hair; she is a blonde, rather pale, and exceedingly pretty.”
“A blonde, pretty—you see there are several here in pink. Look you, when I have fixed my lamps, you must point her out to me.”