"What else could you expect, beautiful angel? It is my element; I should not sleep if I had not drawn my sword, and I should fall ill if three days were to elapse without my ridding the earth of an impertinent fellow or a rival." "O good Heavens!" "But let us leave that subject and speak of you, delightful creature. You seem to me fresher and more beautiful than ever; it is the unfolding of the bud, it is the opening of the flower, it is the fruit which--By the way, how are you?" "Very well. Did you come to give me a music lesson?" "Yes, if you will permit me the pleasure. It is a long time since I had that happiness." "I hope you're going to teach me something new." "By Jove! I'm not at the end of my tether. Besides, were new songs lacking, your beautiful eyes would inspire me to improvise a ballad in sixteen couplets." Blanche brought her sitar and handed it to Chaudoreille, who raised his eyes to Heaven and heaved a big sigh as he took it. "Are you going to be ill, Monsieur Chaudoreille?" questioned the young girl, astonished at this moaning. "No, I am not ill; however, I feel rather uneasy," answered Chaudoreille, venturing to try the effect of the glances and smiles which he had studied before the glass. "You seem to have difficulty in breathing," responded Blanche; "perhaps your supper last night did not agree with you." "Pardon me; I swear to you it did not trouble me in the least. I have a horror of indigestion. Out upon it! I never put myself in the way of having it." "Sing to me the air you are going to teach me; that will make you feel better." "She is innocence itself," said Chaudoreille to himself while tuning the sitar; "she doesn't understand what makes me sigh. Despite that, however, I can see that she's glad to see me. Patience; before long her heart will awaken, and I shall be its conqueror." Blanche took up her work again; Chaudoreille seated himself near her, and after a quarter of an hour's tuning of the sitar, coughed, expectorated, blew his nose, turned around on his chair, arranged his cape, pursed his mouth, passed his tongue over his lips, and at last commenced in a shrill voice, which pierced the ears, an ancient ditty which Blanche had heard a hundred times before. "I know that, my dear master," said she, interrupting Chaudoreille in the middle of a point d'orgue, which he seemed willing to prolong indefinitely; "that's one of the three you have already taught me." "Do you think so?" "Wait; I'll sing it for you." Blanche took the instrument, and, gracefully accompanying herself, sang, in a melodious voice which gave a charm to the old ballad. "That's very well, indeed," said Chaudoreille; "you sing the passages precisely in my manner; I seem to hear myself." "Teach me another, then," said the young girl, returning the instrument to him; and Chaudoreille intoned a virelay on the great feats of Pepin the Short. "I know that, too," said Blanche, stopping him.