[As I saw that it was useless to have pity on my man, for the sonata on the violin had bathed him in perspiration, I resolved to let him do as he would. So behold him seated at the piano, his legs bent, his head thrown back towards the ceiling, where you would have thought he saw a score written up, humming, preluding, dashing off a piece of Alberti's or Galuppi's, I forget which. His voice went like the wind, and his fingers leapt over the imaginary keys. The various passions succeeded one another on his face; you observed on it tenderness, anger, pleasure, sorrow; you felt the piano notes, the forte notes, and I am sure that a more skilful musician than myself would have recognised the piece by the movement and the character, by his gestures, and by a few notes of airs which escaped from him now and again. But the absurd thing was to see him from time to time hesitate and take himself up as if he had gone wrong.] Now, you perceive, said he, rising and wiping away the drops of sweat which rolled down his cheeks, that we know how to place our third, our superfluous fifth, and that we know all about our dominants. Those enharmonic passages, about which the dear uncle makes such fuss, they are not like having the sea to swallow; we can manage them well enough. _I._--You have given yourself a great deal of trouble to show me that you are uncommonly clever; but I would have taken your word for it. _He._--Uncommonly clever; oh no! For my trade, I know it decently, and that is more than one wants; for in this country is one obliged to know all that one shows? _I._--No more than to know all that one teaches. _He._--That is true, most thoroughly true. Now, sir philosopher, your hand on your conscience, speak the truth; there was a time when you were not a man of such substance as you are to-day. _I._--I am not so very substantial even now. _He._--But you would not go now to the Luxembourg in summer-time.... You remember? _I._--No more of that. Yes, I do remember. _He._--In an overcoat of gray shag? _I._--Ay, ay. _He._--Terribly worn at one side, with one of the sleeves torn; and black woollen stockings mended at the back with white thread. _I._--Yes, anything you like. _He._--What were you doing in the alley of Sighs? _I._--Cutting a shabby figure enough, I daresay. _He._--You used to give lessons in mathematics? _I._--Without knowing a word about them. Is not that what you want to come to? _He._--Exactly so. _I._--I learnt by teaching others, and I turned out some good pupils. _He_--That may be; but music is not like algebra or geometry. Now that you are a substantial personage.... _I._--Not so substantial, I tell you. _He._--And have a good lining to your purse....