"Ah! so you're here, are you, monsieur?" cried Madame Monin, for it was that lady in person who had entered the salon. "I find you gambling. I suspected as much. I wish you good-evening, neighbors. While it's thundering and a frightful storm is raging, monsieur sits here gambling instead of coming home to comfort me; and yet he knows how afraid I am of thunder storms! Excuse me, neighbor, for venturing to scold him before you, but you must agree that his conduct is unpardonable." During this sermon, poor Monin, who had no idea what he was doing, staked a forty-sou piece instead of two sous, and stuffed his fingers into his snuff-box, in which there was nothing at all, stammering the while with a contrite air: "How's your health, Bichette?" "My health! a lot you worry about it, on my word! To leave me alone during the storm! Catherine had to keep me company under the quilt." "It was the rain that----" "As if a man should be afraid of the rain! for shame! You make me blush!" Madame Destival did not like Madame Monin; but, being overjoyed by her arrival at that moment, she gave her a seat near the piano and overwhelmed her with attentions, to which Madame Monin replied by repeated curtsies, at the same time handing her husband the umbrella. He stepped forward to take it, and, forgetting that he was interested in the game, murmured so low that she could hardly hear him: "Whenever you're ready, Bichette." But Bichette, who was comfortably seated and was already beginning to criticise Madame de la Thomassinière, replied sharply: "Now that I've come, do you think I propose to go right away again? That would be polite, wouldn't it? that would be worthy of you! I shall have the pleasure of chatting with my neighbor a minute, and listening to the music. I'm very fond of music." "You sing, I believe--do you not, Madame Monin?" inquired Madame Destival eagerly. "Oh! I used to sing; I had rather a good voice, too; but I've forgotten almost everything now except the duet from _Armide_: '_Aimons-nous! aimons-nous! tout nous y convie!_' That's so lovely! it will never grow old." "I have the score of _Armide_; you must sing that for us with Monsieur Dalville." "Oh! really, neighbor!" "Do you hear the present that's to be given you?" whispered Athalie to Auguste. "I am much obliged," replied Dalville; "upon my word, I don't know what I have done to Madame Destival to make her play such a trick on me." "Don't be alarmed; if she forces you to sing the duet, I'll be your accompanist, and I promise you that three or four chords will be broken before the tenth measure." "How good you are, and how deeply indebted I shall be to you!" Monin, seeing that his wife had softened somewhat, made bold to say to her: "You sing very nicely too that song about sheep: '_Margot filait tranquillement, ne pensant, ne rêvant qu'à son p'tit, p'tit, p'tit._'"