"Be quiet! be quiet! I hear something."
"What does it matter to us what they are doing in the street? There are, perhaps, some young men laughing and amusing themselves. Let them do it. I tell you, then, that, brandishing my redoubtable sword—"
"Be quiet, then, stupid," resumed the barber, holding the chevalier's arm still more tightly; "they are beginning again."
They then distinctly heard the sound of a guitar which someone was playing near the house.
"Someone who loves music," said Chaudoreille.
"Hush! let us listen," said Touquet, whose features expressed the most lively anxiety, while the chevalier murmured in a bass voice,—
"They don't play at all well; they have need of some of my lessons."
Almost immediately a voice was heard which, accompanied by the guitar, sang a tender romance, of which the refrain recalled to the barber the words which Blanche had quoted to him.
"No more doubt of it," said Touquet, rising suddenly; "they are singing to her. Ah, reckless fellow, I'll go and take away from you all desire to return here."
While saying these words the barber ran to get his poniard, which hung over the fireplace, while Chaudoreille changed color and murmured,—