He was sure of it, but to hear it said made his heart thump.
"Oh! grandfather!…"
Beaming, the old man showed him the book.
"See: Aria. It is what you were singing on Tuesday when you were lying on the floor. March. That is what I asked you to sing again last week, and you could not remember it. Minuet. That is what you were dancing by the armchair. Look!"
On the cover was written in wonderful Gothic letters:
"The Pleasures of Childhood: Aria, Minuetto, Valse, and Marcia, Op. 1, by Jean-Christophe Krafft."
Jean-Christophe was dazzled by it. To see his name, and that fine title, and that large book—his work!… He went on murmuring:
"Oh! grandfather! grandfather!…"
The old man drew him to him. Jean-Christophe threw himself on his knees, and hid his head in Jean Michel's bosom. He was covered with blushes from his happiness. The old man was even happier, and went on, in a voice which he tried to make indifferent, for he felt that he was on the point of breaking down:
"Of course, I added the accompaniment and the harmony to fit the song. And then"—he coughed—"and then, I added a trio to the minuet, because … because it is usual … and then…. I think it is not at all bad."