The baron opened his enormous mouth, and we supposed that a stentorian voice would issue therefrom; but we were agreeably surprised. When he sang, Herr von Brunzbrack had a shrill voice resembling that of a child of two; it reminded me strongly of the voice of the _Man with the Doll_. "'Moi, qui jadis ch'affre eu le gloire, De chansonner bour Montemoiselle Iris, Che vais avec votre bermission fous dire l'histoire Du jeune perger Paris; Sur le mirlidon.'"[E] "Enough! enough!" cried Frédérique; interrupting him without ceremony; "we know that, my dear Brunzbrack. You needn't have taken so much pains to remember that song." "Vat! you know id?" "Who doesn't know the _Judgment of Paris_; to the air of _mirliton_, _mirlitaine_? I think Collé wrote it. Perhaps I ought not to have admitted that I know it; but as I have told you that I am a man, that shouldn't astonish you." "Id is sehr bretty! Id ended alvays mit: Mirlidon, mirlidaine, mirlidon, don, don." "Yes. I advise you to think of something else, baron." Frédérique threw her red handkerchief on the table, then ran again to the mirror, took a little comb from the pocket of her gown, and in an instant entirely rearranged her coiffure. She selected a beautiful white rose, put it in her hair, made curls much longer than before, and gave herself the aspect of one of those charming English faces of Lawrence, which have been freely reproduced in engravings, and which one cannot look at without the reflection that one would be very fortunate to possess the model. A most extraordinary woman, this Madame Dauberny! How far I had been from imagining her as she then was! What a captivating succession of moods! First, a very madcap, laughing uproariously; then, of a sudden, serious, almost melancholy, stern even; free in her actions, reserved in her speech; one moment assuming the tone and manners of a man; then abruptly recurring to the graces and dainty ways of a woman! I was still uncertain what opinion to form of her; but the one thing of which I could entertain no doubt was her perfect frankness; I was perfectly certain that she never had any hesitation about saying exactly what she thought. "Mirlidon, don, don, mirlidaine!" hummed the baron, between his teeth. Frédérique resumed her place at the table, looked me squarely in the eye, and said: "Well, comrade, what do you think of this arrangement of the hair? But, first of all, my dear fellow, be assured that there isn't the slightest coquetry in all this! It amuses me to vary my headdress, to give myself a serious, saucy, romantic, harum-scarum look, turn and turn about. I would have liked to be an actress, so that I might have changed my rôle constantly. Sometimes I am as much of a child as when I was twelve years old; but, I repeat, I don't do all this to make myself attractive; it is only to amuse myself." "Suppose you were coquettish, where would be the harm? You are entitled to be."