n the part of Vestal
in the new opera, but she is in an interesting condition for the
second time, and they do not know who will take her place.
Mademoiselle Arnould has just left her little Count: they say she
is negotiating with Bertin.... That poor Dumesnil no longer knows
either what he is saying or what he is doing.... Now, Miss, take
your book." While Miss, who is in no hurry, is looking for her
book, which is lost, while they call the housemaid and scold and
make a great stir, I continue--"The Clairon is really
incomprehensible. They talk of a marriage which is outrageously
absurd: 'tis that of Miss ... what is her name? a little creature
that used to live with so and so, etcetera, etcetera:--Come,
Rameau, you are talking nonsense; it is impossible.--I don't talk
nonsense at all; they even say it is done. There is a rumour that
Voltaire is dead, and so much the better.--And pray, why so much
the better?--Because he must be going to give us something more
laughable than usual; it is always his custom to die a fortnight
before." What more shall I tell you? I used to tell certain
naughtinesses that I brought from houses where I had been, for we
are all of us great fetchers and carriers. I played the madman,
they listened to me, they laughed, they called out: How charming he
is! Meanwhile Missy's book had been found under the sofa, where it
had been pulled about, gnawed, torn by a puppy or a kitten. She sat
down to the piano. At first she made a noise on it by herself; then
I went towards her, after giving her mother a sign of approbation.
The mother: "That is not bad; people have only to be in earnest,
but they are not in earnest; they would rather waste their time in
chattering, in disarranging things, in gadding hither and thither,
and I know not what besides. Your back is no sooner turned, M.
Rameau, than the book is shut up, not to be opened until your next
visit; still you never scold her." Then, as something had to be
done, I took hold of her hands and placed them differently; I got
out of temper, I called out "_Sol, Sol, Sol_, Miss, it is a _Sol_."
The mother: "Have you no ear? I am not at the piano, and I can't
see your book, yet I know it ought to be a _Sol_. You are most
troublesome to your teacher; I can't tell how he is so patient; yo