"De Balzac, Honore - Modeste Mignon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Balzac Honore De)

"Good God! such excitements wear me out," said Dumay; "and yet I'm a
strong man."

"May I lose that twenty-five sous if I have the slightest idea what
you are about," remarked Gobenheim. "You seem to me to be crazy."

"And yet it is all about a treasure," said Butscha, standing on tiptoe
to whisper in Gobenheim's ear.

"Dumay, I am sorry to say that I am still almost certain of what I
told you," persisted Madame Mignon.

"The burden of proof is now on you, madame," said Dumay, calmly; "it
is for you to prove that we are mistaken."

Discovering that the matter in question was only Modeste's honor,
Gobenheim took his hat, made his bow, and walked off, carrying his ten
sous with him,--there being evidently no hope of another rubber.

"Exupere, and you too, Butscha, may leave us," said Madame
Latournelle. "Go back to Havre; you will get there in time for the
last piece at the theatre. I'll pay for your tickets."

When the four friends were alone with Madame Mignon, Madame
Latournelle, after looking at Dumay, who being a Breton understood the
mother's obstinacy, and at her husband who was fingering the cards,
felt herself authorized to speak up.

"Madame Mignon, come now, tell us what decisive thing has struck your
mind."

"Ah, my good friend, if you were a musician you would have heard, as I
have, the language of love that Modeste speaks."

The piano of the demoiselles Mignon was among the few articles of
furniture which had been moved from the town-house to the Chalet.
Modeste often conjured away her troubles by practising, without a
master. Born a musician, she played to enliven her mother. She sang by
nature, and loved the German airs which her mother taught her. From
these lessons and these attempts at self-instruction came a phenomenon
not uncommon to natures with a musical vocation; Modeste composed, as
far as a person ignorant of the laws of harmony can be said to
compose, tender little lyric melodies. Melody is to music what imagery
and sentiment are to poetry, a flower that blossoms spontaneously.
Consequently, nations have had melodies before harmony,--botany comes
later than the flower. In like manner, Modeste, who knew nothing of
the painter's art except what she had seen her sister do in the way of
water-color, would have stood subdued and fascinated before the
pictures of Raphael, Titian, Rubens, Murillo, Rembrandt, Albert Durer,