“Oh, I could have slipped about no more, if I had died for it; like a dead march, only not so brisk.” “Patience, patience, daughter.” “Patience, indeed--how’s the arm by this time?” “O! great deal better.” “Well--I’m very glad to hear _that_--still you need not leave us directly.” “What--what? A vivandiere counsel a sergeant of the grand army to desert!” “Oh--no--no, leave of absence, sergeant.” “Ah, it seems _you_ have leave of absence from your aunt.” “Not for long, she’s coming here. Now the dancing is over, the word is ‘singing.’ Such slow singing, I want to dash my hands down on the keys to make just a little stir, you know. And she says I shall sing to-night before the company, but he is wrong. I won’t, I won’t, I won’t.” “Or-r-r-r-der.” “I say I won’t--I won’t--I won’t! And I won’t marry the duke, and I won’t marry anybody but Tony.” “Ah, Marie, how can you help yourself?” “If I don’t help myself, I’m sure nobody else will, not even Sergeant Sulpice.” “Hush!--here she comes--full dress parade.” “And in stalked the marquise.” “Thank the chances I have found it--this superb romance. Hem--hem!--’Tis a beautiful romance. Come, Marie--there you stand like a simpleton. Come to the piano this moment.” “Yes--aunt.” “There--now begin.” “Ve-e-e-nus.” “Very good.” “Venus--the goddess of love.” “Enchanting, my dear--go on. I will play slowly.” “Venus--Venus--descends fr-r-ra-rom above.” “Quite admirable--now, go on.” “Marie!” this was the sergeant, creeping up behind the chaste back of the marquise, and whispering to the vivandiere. “Marie--rata--” “Rataplan--rataplan--rataplan. Rataplan--plan--plan--plan--plan--plan-n-n. Rub-a-dub. Dub-a-rub.” “My DEAR--what are you singing there?” “Oh--certainly--aunt.” “Ve-e-enus--Venus--comes down to dark earth.” “Ve-_he-he_-nus appears--to light she gives birth.” “Ra-ta--PLAN--Marie!” “Each soldier says it--each soldier vows.” “MADEMOISELLE! I _beg_. Now pray begin all over again--and when you come down at the end of the sixth line--to ‘sigh’--mind you sigh just like Venus.” “Oh--I can’t. Oh--I won’t. I like the sound of the drum better. There! Rub-a-dub-dub-dub--Rataplan--rataplan.” “How dare you?” “Rataplan--rataplan--rataplan.” Useless was it that the marquise stepped with dignity after the vivandiere at this declaration of war. “Now, fall in there. Right about face. Ma-r-r-rch.” “Girl!” “Rataplan--rataplan!” Tramp, tramp, up and down the room went the soldier and the girl, the marquise continually following and expostulating. At last she could bear it no longer, so she took advantage of marching right to the door-post with them, not to wheel, but to keep straight on through the doorway, and to fluster up to her own apartments.