"I'm trying, Louis."
"Go ahead; let's hear something, then."
And she sang very intelligently and in excellent taste:
"Pendant que, plein d'amour, j'expire à votre porte,
Vous dormez d'un paisible sommeil—"
and turned questioningly to him.
"That's all right; try another."
So, serenely obedient, she sang:
"Chantons Margot, nos amours,
Margot leste et bien tournée—"
"Well, I don't see anything the matter with your French," he muttered.
The girl coloured with pleasure, resting pensively above the key-board; but he had no further requests to make and presently she swung around on the piano-stool, looking at him.