"Oho! So you are one of the psalm-singers, then?" His insulting tone and jeering smile were intolerable.
"I have sung no psalms here, at least," I replied trembling with anger; "or anything else, to annoy the ears of my neighbours."
"So you don't like my singing?" he cried, turning red again.
I had truly rather admired it, but I said, "I have heard better."
"Indeed? But how should you know. For your education in taste, I may tell you that good judges have thought well of my singing."
"Ay, brag of it, as you do of your success with the ladies."
He stared at me in amazement, then cried. "Death of my life, young fellow!—" But at that instant his servant brought in his supper, and he went no further. My own meal was before me a minute later, and we both devoted ourselves in angry silence to our food. I was still full of resentment at his obtrusive scorn of myself and my religious party, and I could see that he felt himself mightily outraged at my retorts. From the rapid, heedless way in which he ate, I fancied his mind was busy with all sorts of revenge upon me.
When he had finished, at the same time as I did, and our servants had gone to eat their supper in the kitchen, he leaned against the wall, and said, "I am going to sing, Monsieur, whether it pleases you or not." And forthwith he began to do so.
My answer was to put on a look of pain, and walk hastily from the room, as if the torture to my ears were too great for endurance.
I was not half-way across the court-yard before I heard him at my heels though not singing.