And then, what can a poor girl do? She dons her good clothes, when 'tis fair: The wind springs up, she's in a mess, She cannot hold her hat in place And skirts and flounces all at once; Her eyes are quickly filled with dust, When in her face the sly wind blows; But 'tis more trait'rous far, my love, When she sees not the wind's approach. [D] If the rain is most unpleasant, And wets our poor skirts thro' and thro', The wind's as wanton as the deuce! He draws in outline all our figure. 'Tis just as if we wore tight breeches; A man at such times is less careful, For it makes him sentimental! And, my love, it's not our face He looks at while the wind is blowing. [E] I, who once had the glory of singing for Mademoiselle Iris, propose, with your leave, to tell you the story of the young shepherd Paris, etc. [F] _Tutoyer_; that is, to use the more familiar form of address, to "thee and thou" one; which, the reader will please understand, Frédérique proceeds to do, and Rochebrune also, with some slips. End of Project Gutenberg's Frédérique; vol. 1, by Charles Paul de Kock