"The Nectar quickly pour,— (No sound. I'll tap once more.) (Sings again.) "Then came the Sire Apollo, (Coquette! She heard before.) (Sings again.) "And urchin Cupid after (Now comes the last. "Tis scarcely worse, I think, than Monsieur l'ABBÉ's verse.) "So waken, waken, waken, O You, whom we adore; (That merits an encore.) "So waken, waken, waken! (An energetic VOICE.) "Tis thou, ANTOINE? Ah, Addle-pate! Ah, Thief of Valet, always late! Have I not told thee half-past eight A thousand times! (Great agitation.) But wait, but wait, M. L'ÉTOILE (stupefied). Just Skies! What hideous roar !— (Retiring slowly.) And yet, and yet,-it can't be she. (A second VOICE.) IT WAS THE ABBÉ TI--RI—LI ! (In a mocking falsetto.) "Where Gods can be mistaken, THE CAP THAT FITS 'Qui sème épines n'aille déchaux.” SCENE. A Salon with blue and white Panels. Outside, Persons pass and re-pass upon a Terrace. HORTENSE. ARMANDE. MONSIEUR LOYAL. HORTENSE (behind her fan). NOT young, I think. ARMANDE (raising her eye-glass). And faded, too! Quite faded! Monsieur, what say you? M. LOYAL. Nay, I defer to you. In truth, HORTENSE. Graceful? You think it? What, with hands That hang like this (with a gesture). Is odious simply! JACOTOT HORTENSE. Edged with green!! "Myrtilla (lest a Scandal rise Much on Resource herself she prided- I know not: only this I know ;- 'Prudence,' she felt, was somewhat small; 'Retirement' seemed the Eyes to hide; 'Content,' at once, she cast aside. Simplicity,'-'twas out of Place; 'Devotion,' for an older Face; Briefly, Selection smaller grew, 'Vexatious!' odious!—none would do! Then, on a Sudden, she espied One that she thought she had not tried: |