"And again, 'Dire, faire, taire.'"

"Ay, ay, father, you may depend on me," said I, heartily.

Sometimes, before I went to bed, I stepped out to get a glimpse of the
light in Madeleine's window. I should observe, it was also Gabrielle's,
for the sisters shared the same room. The moon cast strong lights and
shadows, and I kept in the shade till close to the house, when what was
my disgust to hear the wretched tinkle of a guitar under the window!
Serenades might be all very well for Italy, but we did not favor them
in Nismes; and stepping briskly up to the musician, I said abruptly,
"We want none of this miserable noise!"

He started as if shot, saying, "Pardon, monsieur," evidently taking
me for one of the family; a mistake which I favored by knocking at the
door. As I was in deep shadow he did not recognize me, but the moonlight
fell full on his face, and I saw it was Martin Prunevaux. I felt
exceedingly inclined to fall on him and beat him for daring to tune his
wretched pipes under Madeleine's window; but a second thought assured me
that Gabrielle must be his object; the more so that I was sure I saw her
shadow (which was shorter than her sister's) fall on the curtain, and
I could even fancy her making merry behind it. Still, I liked not such a
fellow to come prowling about either of the sisters. I stood my ground,
that I might not be guilty of a runaway knock, and when Alice came to
the door I made a bungling speech and said, "Oh, I suppose the family
are all gone to bed. I am late tonight." She said, "They are so, sir,"
and looked surprised. I said, "There was a street musician of some sort
before the house when I came up. I think I have chased him away." She
said, "All the better, sir; we are much obliged to you; we never
encourage such people."