"Ach! id vill pe sehr bretty so! I loafe tat kind! Ve vill much laugh. Let us hear te naughty song. Ha! ha! How id vill pe amusing! Ho! ho!" The baron laughed so heartily in anticipation of the pleasure in store for him, that Frédérique had much difficulty in silencing him; he ceased at last, and contented himself with muttering between his teeth: "Naughty, _risqué!_--_risqué_, naughty!" while I sang to the tune of the _Baiser au Porteur_: "'Quand on t'offre une promenade, Lisa, prends garde au temps qu'il fait! S'il fait du vent, dis-toi malade, Ou bien, l'on en profiterait Pour te faire ce qu'on voudrait. Va, je ne ris pas, sur mon âme! Par ce temps-la je fus prise souvent! Ma chère, il n'est pour une femme Rien de plus traître que le vent.'"[B] I paused after the first verse and glanced at Frédérique. She smiled; that was a good sign. As for the baron, he repeated each line after me, sometimes with variations, and with an accompaniment of loud guffaws. We heard him mumbling: "Noding so slyer als der vind! Ho! ho! ho! Gut, gut! Naughty!" "Go on," said Frédérique. I cleared my throat, drank a glass of wine, and cried like Ravel in the _Tourlourou_: "Second verse, same tune: "'Et puis, comment veux-tu qu'on fasse? On s'habille quand il fait beau: Le vent arrive, on s'embarrasse, On ne peut tenir de niveau, Le bas d'sa robe et son chapeau; On a les yeux pleins de poussière Lorsque ça souffle par devant, Mais c'est plus perfide, ma chère, Quand on n'voit pas venir le vent.'"[C] "My loafe! Ven she don't feel te vind plowing! Ho! ho! gut! gut! gut! Troum! troum! troum!" Frédérique laughed outright. "Oh! how insufferable he is with his repetitions! Next verse." "'Si la pluie est désagréable Et sur nous mouille nos jupons, Le vent est libertin en diable! Il dessin' ce que nous avons. Il nous fait comm' des petits cal'cons; Un homme, alors, garde moins de mesure, Car ça le monte au ton du sentiment! Et ce n'est pas notre figure Qu'il regarde tant qu'il fait du vent.'"[D] "Ho! ho! ho! gut! gut! Id is not te face. Ich nicht untershtand." "So much the worse for you, baron; for I don't propose to have it explained to you. It seems to me that it's plain enough. It's a little free, but it's amusing. Is that all?" "Yes." "Only three verses! That's a pity!" And Frédérique put her glass to her lips, adding: "After all, where's the harm? In the old days, men sang more and they weren't so ill-tempered as they are to-day. Poor French gayety! what has become of thee? O merry meetings of the _Caveau_! In truth, it was only to sing that men sought admission to thy meetings." "Troum, troum, traderi dera. Ach! I remember me mein song now." "Let's have it, baron; we are listening."