"But everything is sung, _ma chére_, in an opera."

"What do you mean? Is there no play?"

"This is the play; only instead of speaking their words, they sing
them."

Josephine shrugged her shoulders.

"Ah, bah!" said she. "How stupid! I had rather have seen the _Closerie
des Gênets_ at the Graiété, if that is to be the case the whole evening.
Oh, dear! there is such a pretty lady come into the opposite box, in
such a beautiful blue _glacé_, trimmed with black velvet and lace!"

"Hush! you must not talk while they are singing!"

"_Tiens!_ it is no pleasure to come out and be dumb. But do just see the
lady in the opposite box! She looks exactly as if she had walked out of
a fashion-book."

"My dear child, I don't care one pin to look at her," said I, preferring
to keep as much out of sight as possible. "To admire your pretty face is
enough for me."

Josephine squeezed my hand affectionately.

"That is just as Emile used to talk to me," said she.

I felt by no means flattered.