Auguste's face lighted up a little. Young Anatole ceased to gaze at his hands; the count seemed fascinated, and did not once remove his eyes from the singer. At last, Madame de Mirallon exclaimed:
"It's your play, Monsieur Batonnin; do, for heaven's sake, attend to the game!"
"A thousand pardons, madame; I was listening to the singing."
"But we are not singing, monsieur!"
"Thank God!" muttered Monsieur Clairval.
"What's that! Why did you say: 'Thank God!' Monsieur Clairval?"
"Because, if we were all singing, madame, we should not have the pleasure of hearing mademoiselle."
"You see that I am disturbing the game," said Adolphine.
"No, no; pray go on, mademoiselle! As if people could play whist for two minutes without a dispute! You are the pretext at this moment, that's all."
Adolphine continued to sing. The game of whist came to an end, and Madame de Mirallon lost again. She left the table in a pet, exclaiming: