“Now that I’ve come, do you think I propose to go right away again? That would be polite, wouldn’t it? that would be worthy of you! I shall have the pleasure of chatting with my neighbor a minute, and listening to the music. I’m very fond of music.”
“You sing, I believe—do you not, Madame Monin?” inquired Madame Destival eagerly.
“Oh! I used to sing; I had rather a good voice, too; but I’ve forgotten almost everything now except the duet from Armide: ‘Aimons-nous! aimons-nous! tout nous y convie!’ That’s so lovely! it will never grow old.”
“I have the score of Armide; you must sing that for us with Monsieur Dalville.”
“Oh! really, neighbor!”
“Do you hear the present that’s to be given you?” whispered Athalie to Auguste.
“I am much obliged,” replied Dalville; “upon my word, I don’t know what I have done to Madame Destival to make her play such a trick on me.”
“Don’t be alarmed; if she forces you to sing the duet, I’ll be your accompanist, and I promise you that three or four chords will be broken before the tenth measure.”
“How good you are, and how deeply indebted I shall be to you!”
Monin, seeing that his wife had softened somewhat, made bold to say to her: