"Mon Dieu! monsieur, if it will give you any pleasure, I will gladly sing; but it will disturb the whist." "Sing away!" said Monsieur Gerbault; "we will stuff our ears." "Thanks, papa!" "There's a father who doesn't say what he thinks, I am sure." While Adolphine took her place at the piano, young Anatole said to Monleard: "Ith it true that Morithel hath run away?" "Why, yes!" "The devil! And he'th carried off thix hundred thouthand francth, they thay." "Something like that." "You had thome buthineth relathionth with him; haven't you lotht anything by him?" "No--a trifle--some thirty thousand francs or so." "A trifle like that would embarrath me thadly! To be thure, I'm not a capitalitht like you." Auguste bit his lips and took a seat by the piano. Adolphine sang a lovely romanza by Nadaud. Her voice was sweet and well modulated; in a word, it was a sympathetic voice, and, furthermore, its possessor had an agreeable habit of pronouncing distinctly the words she sang; which increased twofold the pleasure of those who listened to her. Auguste's face lighted up a little. Young Anatole ceased to gaze at his hands; the count seemed fascinated, and did not once remove his eyes from the singer. At last, Madame de Mirallon exclaimed: "It's your play, Monsieur Batonnin; do, for heaven's sake, attend to the game!" "A thousand pardons, madame; I was listening to the singing." "But we are not singing, monsieur!" "Thank God!" muttered Monsieur Clairval. "What's that! Why did you say: 'Thank God!' Monsieur Clairval?" "Because, if we were all singing, madame, we should not have the pleasure of hearing mademoiselle." "You see that I am disturbing the game," said Adolphine. "No, no; pray go on, mademoiselle! As if people could play whist for two minutes without a dispute! You are the pretext at this moment, that's all." Adolphine continued to sing. The game of whist came to an end, and Madame de Mirallon lost again. She left the table in a pet, exclaiming: "I certainly will give up playing whist!" "Do you know my favorite game?" said Monsieur Gerbault; "it's bezique." "Fie, fie! a messroom game!" "I don't know anything about that; but piquet is a messroom game, too, which doesn't prevent its being a very fine game. I've heard people say of lansquenet: 'It's a footman's game!' the same thing has been said of ecarte--but that doesn't prevent those games from being played in the salons. For my part, I believe in playing the game that amuses us, without disturbing ourselves about its origin." "I am wild over bezique, too," cried Monsieur de la Beriniere; "and, if you will allow me, Monsieur Gerbault, I shall take great pleasure in playing a game with you." "Whenever you choose, monsieur le comte, you will be welcome." "That's a game I am very fond of, too," said Monsieur Batonnin. "I am not thure whether I know it, but I think not."