“Oh! it’s all over, my dear; it’s all over; it won’t happen again.”
Edmond having ceased to sing, the two young women entered the salon.
“You sing very well, monsieur,” said Honorine; while Agathe, still all a-quiver from the effect that Edmond’s voice had produced upon her, stood apart and dared not trust herself to speak.
“What, mesdames, were you listening to me? If I had known that, I should not have dared to sing.”
“You would have been very foolish, and we hope, on the contrary, that you will continue, although you know that we are here.”
“If it will give you any pleasure, madame, I will do whatever you command. But may I not hear you and mademoiselle, also?”
“Oh, yes! monsieur, we will both sing; and as I have not enough talent to require urging, I will begin.”
Honorine seated herself at the piano. She had not much voice, but she put so much expression into the words she sang that one never tired of hearing her.
Next it was Agathe’s turn; she faltered, forgot words and air, confused one song with another, and sang very badly because she longed to sing better than usual.
“Do not judge her by this hearing,” said Honorine; “really, she is not in voice to-day.”