Chérubin, when he was left alone with the charming person with whom he felt that he was very much in love, wondered how he should begin the conversation. Meanwhile she was making eyes at him in a fashion which invited him to speak, with an accompaniment of the most melting smiles. The young man ventured at last. “Is madame fond of the theatre?” “Yes, _messié_.” “Does madame come often?” “No, _messié_. But I used to go ever so much with my cuisine.”[C] [C] _Cuisine_ means ‘kitchen’ or ‘cooking’. She intended to say _cousine_. Chérubin opened his ears, trying to understand. “My _cuisine_ liked the theatre ever so much.” “Ah! you are speaking of a _cousine_, no doubt?” “Yes, yes, my _cuisine_.” “And this gentleman with you--is he your husband?” “Yes; Comte Glo--Globe--Oh dear! I have forgot his name! I am stupid!” “You are not French, madame?” “Oh, no! I am from Alsa--No, no, I’m from some other place! I have forgot again; I am awful stupid!” Mademoiselle Chichette said all this so comically, and rested her eyes on Chérubin so often, that the young man paid no heed to the incoherency of her speech, but became more and more enamored of the lovely stranger. “Do you enjoy Paris, madame?” “Oh yes! I enjoy it; but I am always thinking of my little pays!” “Ah! you regret it?” “Yes! I would like to see my little pays again!” “You love your country--pays--that is perfectly natural.” “Ah, yes! he’s a _tourlourou_ now.” Here Chérubin again failed to understand, but Poterne returned, luckily for Mademoiselle Chichette, who was beginning to forget her part and to talk at random. Daréna soon returned also; he asked Chérubin whether he had carried forward his affair with his pretty neighbor. “Yes, we talked; she seemed to ask nothing better. You were not mistaken; the gentleman is her husband; she’s a foreigner, she has a very strong accent.” “They’re Poles; I found that out in the foyer.” “She seems to be very much attached to her country--pays,--for she sighs for it and talks about it all the time!” “Her country! oh, yes! Poland.--Did you make an appointment with her?” “An appointment? Oh! we didn’t get so far as that!” “How did you amuse yourselves then? A woman who is mad over you, who fairly eats you with her eyes!” “Do you think so? What good fortune! She is so pretty, and her accent is so fascinating!” “Yes, the Polish accent has much charm.” “I am quite mad over her, my dear fellow.” “And you are right. It would be downright murder not to carry that rose-bud away from that old caterpillar!” “Carry her away! What! do you think that it will be necessary----” “Hush! let me act; I will arrange the whole business.” The play came to an end. Monsieur Poterne donned his umbrella-like hat, and gave the fair Chichette his arm. She, although sorely embarrassed in her costume, succeeded in holding her hand out straight behind her.