"Wait, monsieur; do you hear the delightful cavatina, that will end soon, ring-dong-a-dillo! Perfect! Brava! Bravo! Bravi!" And the banker applauded frantically.
"That is exquisite, and none understands the music of the Ent-lavatoire better than M. Pseudonimo," said the viscount. "You did say prince, no? Eh bien, if he is not a prince, they will make him one; it is easy in the Fourth Age. You should have them sing another number; it is a delightful thing to listen to music at a slight distance, without being seen, and thus without disturbing the musician, who can then surrender to the instinct of his genius or the élan of his heart."
The baron took Monte Fato aside. "Look at this fellow," he said. "As cold as a dwarf-maiden or a charadras on rocks, as proud as his father. If he possessed the riches of the Pseudonimi, I could pass over that; but since he does not..."
"I find M. de Pérégrin a charming young man. A month ago, you found this marriage to be excellent. I am in despair; it is chez moi that you met the young Pseudonimo, whom, I repeat, I do not know."
"I know him; that suffices. He is rich, to begin with."
"I'm not so sure of that. And the Pérégrins are counting on this marriage."
"Then let them declare themselves. You, Count, who are so well-received in their house, speak to them."
