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heart of gold, and that she would have shewn extraordinary
musical talent if she had only been trained. He may be sure
it is not music that she is teaching his daughter.’ But M. Vin-
teuil assured them that it was, and indeed it is remarkable
that people never fail to arouse admiration of their normal
qualities in the relatives of anyone with whom they are in
physical intercourse. Bodily passion, which has been so un-
justly decried, compels its victims to display every vestige
that is in them of unselfishness and generosity, and so effec-
tively that they shine resplendent in the eyes of all beholders.
Dr. Percepied, whose loud voice and bushy eyebrows enabled
him to play to his heart’s content the part of ‘double-dealer,’
a part to which he was not, otherwise, adapted, without in
the least degree compromising his unassailable and quite
unmerited reputation of being a kind-hearted old curmud-
geon, could make the Curé and everyone else laugh until
they cried by saying in a harsh voice: ‘What d’ye say to this,
now? It seems that she plays music with her friend, Mile.
Vinteuil. That surprises you, does it? Oh, I know nothing,
nothing at all. It was Papa Vinteuil who told me all about it
yesterday. After all, she has every right to be fond of music,
that girl. I should never dream of thwarting the artistic vo-
cation of a child; nor Vinteuil either, it seems. And then he
plays music too, with his daughter’s friend. Why, gracious
heavens, it must be a regular musical box, that house out
there! What are you laughing at? I say they’ve been play-
ing too much music, those people. I met Papa Vinteuil the
other day, by the cemetery. It was all he could do to keep on
his feet.’

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