They began to play again; but it went no better, although the first violin writhed and gesticulated like one possessed; the company began to laugh, and the performers stopped.
“It certainly doesn’t go right,” said Monsieur Longuet, the first violin and conductor. “There must be mistakes somewhere; let me see the ‘cello score. What does this mean? you’re playing in B flat and we in D! Parbleu! I’m not surprised.”
“I’m playing just what you told me to,” rejoined old Pattier, scarlet with anger; “the first quartette in the first portfolio.”
“True; how the devil does it happen? Let’s look at the title. What do I see? Mozart’s quartette! and we are playing one of Pleyel’s! Ha! ha! that’s a good one!”
Everybody laughed at the episode; Monsieur Pattier alone was furious over the mistake, for which Vauvert was responsible, and which resulted in preventing the performance of the quartette. He rushed up to the master of the house, who had just seated himself in a corner of the salon beside a young brunette on whom he was bestowing meaning glances.
“How’s this, Monsieur Vauvert? You tell me that you have brought the score that was missing, and you give me the bass of a Mozart quartette when we are to play one of Pleyel’s!”
“I thought I heard you mention Mozart.”
“You thought! a man doesn’t make such mistakes as that!”
“Well! I’ll go and change it.”
“No, no, it’s no use; almost eleven o’clock; a pretty time to go out after music! I shan’t forget this trick.”