At last the intrepid amateurs were in tune and took their places at their desks. The old 'cello player had put his little shade of green paper round his candle, so that the light should not hurt his eyes; the tenor violinist had put on his spectacles; the second violin put an ounce of rosin on his bow; and the first violin adjusted his cravat so that his instrument should not rumple his collar. All these preliminaries being completed,--during which Vauvert tried to bring the assemblage to order by many a prolonged _hush_!--the first violin raised his bow and stamped on the floor, glancing from one to another of his colleagues. "Are we ready?" he said at last, with a determined air. "Oh! I've been ready two hours!" retorted Monsieur Pattier, with an angry shrug. "One moment, messieurs," said the second violin; "my first string is loose; it's a new string; I must tighten it." The tenor seized the opportunity to play over a passage that seemed rather difficult, and the 'cellist consoled himself with a pinch of snuff. "Now I'm ready," said the second violin. "That's very fortunate.--Attention, messieurs, if you please; we will play the _allegro_ rather slowly, and the _adagio_ somewhat quickly; that produces a better effect." "As you please; it's your place to beat time." The signal was given; the first violin started, and the others straggled after, as usual. Although I paid little attention to the quartette, it seemed to me to be even worse than ordinarily. "The villains have sworn to flay us alive!" said one of my neighbors. "That isn't right! that isn't right!" cried the first violin, stopping short. "I don't see why it didn't go well enough," observed the tenor. "No, no! there was something that was all wrong." "Where was it?" "Where? I can't say exactly." "Well, _I_ didn't miss a note," said the second violin. "Nor I." "Nor I." "Come, messieurs, let us begin again." "All right, but see that you beat time properly." "I should say that I beat time loud enough." "To be sure you do," said Madame Vauvert; "and the person who lives underneath said she would complain to the landlord." They began to play again; but it went no better, although the first violin writhed and gesticulated like one possessed; the company began to laugh, and the performers stopped. "It certainly doesn't go right," said Monsieur Longuet, the first violin and conductor. "There must be mistakes somewhere; let me see the 'cello score. What does this mean? you're playing in _B_ flat and we in _D_! Parbleu! I'm not surprised." "I'm playing just what you told me to," rejoined old Pattier, scarlet with anger; "the first quartette in the first portfolio." "True; how the devil does it happen? Let's look at the title. What do I see? Mozart's quartette! and we are playing one of Pleyel's! Ha! ha! that's a good one!"