"I don't know; it rather sounds like a brass band," answered the wife.
The husband's honour and good taste were involved; he looked for the
Moonshine Aria in the fourth act. After a little searching he came
across an aria for soprano. That must be it.
And he began again.
Tram-tramtram, tram-tramtram, went the bass; it was very easy to play.
"Do you know," said his wife, when it was over, "I don't think very
much of it."
The husband, quite depressed, admitted that it reminded him of a barrel
organ.
"I thought so all along," confessed the wife.
"And I find it antiquated, too. I am surprised that Gounod should be
out of date, already," he added dejectedly. "Would you like to go on
playing? Let's try the Cavatina and the Trio; I particularly remember
the soprano; she was divine."
When they stopped playing, the husband looked crestfallen and put the
music away, as if he wanted to shut the door on the past.
"Let's have a glass of beer," he said. They sat down at the table and
had a glass of beer.
"It's extraordinary," he began, after a little while, "I never
realised before that we've grown old, for we really must have vied
with Romeo and Julia as to who should age faster. It's twenty years
ago since I heard the opera for the first time.
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