“ You wanted the book of chansons ?” she said.
“ I wanted to learn your tunes,” he replied.
“ Yes. Look—here it is!” And she brought him the little yellow book. It was just a hand-book, with melody and words only, no accompaniment. So she stood offering him the book, but waiting as if for something else, and standing as if with another meaning.
He opened the leaves at random.
“ But I ought to know which ones you sing,” said he, rising and standing by her side with the open book.
“ Yes,” she said, looking over his arm. He turned the pages one by one. “ Trois jeunes tambours ,” said she. “Yes, that.... Yes, En passant par la Lorraine .... Aupres de ma blonde .... Oh, I like that one so much—” He stood and went over the tune in his mind.
“ Would you like me to pla
