"Très bien," was the approving comment at the close of the piece.
"C'est presque le Français rattrapé, n'est-ce pas?"
"You could not write French as you once could, I daresay?"
"Oh! no. I should make strange work of my concords now."
"You could not compose the devoir of "La Première Femme Savante?"
"Do you still remember that rubbish?"
"Every line."
"I doubt you."
"I will engage to repeat it word for word."
"You would stop short at the first line."
"Challenge me to the experiment."
"I challenge you."
He proceeded to recite the following: he gave it in French, but we must translate, on pain of being unintelligible to some readers.
This was in the dawn of time, before the morning stars were set, and while they yet sang together.
The epoch is so remote, the mists and dewy gray of matin twilight veil it with so vague an obscurity, that all distinct feature of custom, all clear line of
