"What the devil do you expect me to sing you? I don't know anything! I've got a cold, too; and then, Vauvert's guitar is such a wretched instrument! a regular chestnut stove! it's impossible to play on it." "With such talent as yours, one can play on anything," observed a little old woman, throwing herself back in her chair and clasping her hands ecstatically, while tears of pleasure started from her eyes. "Mon Dieu! what blissful moments I owe to you! Music produces such an effect on me--such an effect! you can't form any idea of it; my nerves are so sensitive, I abandon myself so utterly to the melody! Take your guitar, enchanter! take it and make me dream! You remind me of a handsome traveller who played the guitar under my windows when I was young!" The chubby-faced gentleman and I turned away, to avoid laughing in the face of the old woman, from whom Gripaille had great difficulty in extricating himself. Old age is certainly most worthy of respect; but it is hard to keep a serious face before such old idiots, who fall into a trance during a ballad or an _adagio_. I saw the old man who usually played the 'cello part look at his watch, and heard him mutter between his teeth: "This is very disagreeable! I must be at home at eleven o'clock, and we are wasting all this time doing nothing; and I've been here since seven! They were laughing at me when they told me that they were going to begin early, and that there would be a full quartette here; but they won't catch me again." At last Monsieur Vauvert appeared, panting, almost breathless, drenched with perspiration, and bending beneath the burden of a tenor violin and several portfolios of music. "Here I am! here I am!" he exclaimed, bustling into the room with an air of great bewilderment; "I've had hard work collecting all the parts, but I've succeeded at last." "You must have been diverting yourself between whiles," said Madame Vauvert, pursing her lips. "Oh, yes! parbleu! that's very likely; diverting myself, indeed! I'm bathed in perspiration!--You can begin the quartette, messieurs." "Let's begin, let's begin!" said Monsieur Pattier, the 'cello player; "we have very little time.--But have you brought my score?" "Yes, yes! there it is on the stand." "Come, messieurs, let's tune up." The amateurs who formed the quartette tried to bring their instruments in tune with one another. Meanwhile, the guests took their places to listen; sat down when they could find chairs. The ladies were already yawning; the bare announcement of a quartette gave them the vapors; to distract their thoughts, they chatted with the men who stood behind their chairs. They whispered and laughed and made fun of everybody, especially of the performers; the moment when music is being performed is always selected by the listeners to make the most noise.