ut, leaving Bathilde alone. Bathilde, to
amuse herself, went to the piano and finding both the instrument and
her voice in good order, began to sing a great scene from some opera,
and with such perfection that Mademoiselle de Launay, returning and
hearing this unexpected song, opened the door softly, listened to the
air, and threw her arms round the beautiful singer's neck, crying out
that she could save her life. Bathilde, astonished, asked how, and in
what manner, she could render her so great a service. Then Mademoiselle
de Launay told her how she had engaged Mademoiselle Berry of the opera
to sing the cantata of Night on the succeeding evening, and she had
fallen ill and sent to say that to her great regret her Royal Highness
the Duchesse de Maine could not rely upon her, so that there would be no
'Night,' and, consequently, no fete, if Bathilde would not have the
extreme goodness to undertake the aforesaid cantata.

"Bathilde, as you may suppose, defended herself with all her might, and
declared that it was impossible that she should thus sing music which
she did not know. Mademoiselle de Launay put the cantata before her.
Bathilde said that the music seemed terribly difficult. Mademoiselle de
Launay answered that for a musician of her powers nothing was difficult.
Bathilde got up. Mademoiselle de Launay made her sit down again.
Bathilde clasped her hands. Mademoiselle de Launay unclasped them and
placed them on the piano. The piano being touched gave out a sound.
Bathilde, in spite of herself, played the first bar; then the second;
then the whole cantata. Then she attacked the song, and sang it to the
end with an admirable justness of intonation and beauty of expression.
Mademoiselle de Launay was enchanted. Madame de Maine arrived in despair
at what she had heard of Mademoiselle Berry. Mademoiselle de Launay
begged Bathilde to recommence the cantata. Bathilde did not dare to
refuse; she played and sang like an angel. Madame de Maine joined her
prayers to those of Mademoiselle de Launay. You know, chevalier, that it
is impossible to refuse Madame de Maine anything.

"Poor Bathilde was obliged to give way, and half laughing, half crying,
she consented, on two conditions. The first, that she might go herself
to her friend Buvat to explain her absence; the second, that she might
remain at home all that evening and the next morning in order to study
the unfortunate cantata. These clauses, after a long discussion, were