“Here I am! here I am!” he exclaimed, bustling into the room with an air of great bewilderment; “I’ve had hard work collecting all the parts, but I’ve succeeded at last.”
“You must have been diverting yourself between whiles,” said Madame Vauvert, pursing her lips.
“Oh, yes! parbleu! that’s very likely; diverting myself, indeed! I’m bathed in perspiration!—You can begin the quartette, messieurs.”
“Let’s begin, let’s begin!” said Monsieur Pattier, the ‘cello player; “we have very little time.—But have you brought my score?”
“Yes, yes! there it is on the stand.”
“Come, messieurs, let’s tune up.”
The amateurs who formed the quartette tried to bring their instruments in tune with one another. Meanwhile, the guests took their places to listen; sat down when they could find chairs. The ladies were already yawning; the bare announcement of a quartette gave them the vapors; to distract their thoughts, they chatted with the men who stood behind their chairs. They whispered and laughed and made fun of everybody, especially of the performers; the moment when music is being performed is always selected by the listeners to make the most noise.
At last the intrepid amateurs were in tune and took their places at their desks. The old ‘cello player had put his little shade of green paper round his candle, so that the light should not hurt his eyes; the tenor violinist had put on his spectacles; the second violin put an ounce of rosin on his bow; and the first violin adjusted his cravat so that his instrument should not rumple his collar.
All these preliminaries being completed,—during which Vauvert tried to bring the assemblage to order by many a prolonged hush!—the first violin raised his bow and stamped on the floor, glancing from one to another of his colleagues.
“Are we ready?” he said at last, with a determined air.