"Isn't it incredible," she said, exactly like a child, "that I
can not succeed in playing that passage? Would you believe that I
sometimes spend two hours of the morning over it? And when I
think that that idiot of a count plays it without his music, and
beautifully, I really believe it is that that makes me so furious
with him." And she began again, always with the same result.

"The devil take Weber, music, and pianos!" she cried, throwing
the music to the other end of the room. "How can I play eight
sharps one after another?" She folded her arms and looked at us,
stamping her foot. The blood flew to her cheeks, and her lips
half opened in a slight cough.

"Come, come," said Prudence, who had taken off her hat and was
smoothing her hair before the glass, "you will work yourself into
a rage and do yourself harm. Better come and have supper; for my
part, I am dying of hunger."

Marguerite rang the bell, sat down to the piano again, and began
to hum over a very risky song, which she accompanied without
difficulty. Gaston knew the song, and they gave a sort of duet.

"Don't sing those beastly things," I said to Marguerite,
imploringly.

"Oh, how proper you are!" she said, smiling and giving me her
hand. "It is not for myself, but for you."

Marguerite made a gesture as if to say, "Oh, it is long since
that I have done with propriety!" At that moment Nanine appeared.