Satordi had found the perfect woman to sing Didier's opera.
"I cannot believe," he had invited her over to his home, "that you can sing in such a way."
"I have my teachers to thank for that." She took a seat next to the piano.
Satordi sat next to her, handing her the music, "I think you will be very pleased with what is written."
She took it willingly, looking over the different pages, amazed by what her eyes were reading.
She looked up at him, a smile across her face, "Mon dieu! And you wrote this, monsieur?"
His smile slowly faded. He did not write the piece he handed her. He did not write any of it. As much as he would have loved to tell her he did…
He just couldn't do that to Didier.
Regaining his smile he shook his head, "No, Madam. My pupil wrote it, and I am very proud of him for it."
She made a flattering smile, "Then you must be an extraordinary teacher, Satordi."
And with no control over it, Satordi blushed.