TWO TRIOLETS

I

(_What He Said_)

THIS kiss upon your fan I press,

Ah! Saint Nitouche, you don’t refuse it,

And may it from its soft recess,

This kiss upon your fan I press,

Be blown to you a shy caress

By this white down whene’er you use it;

This kiss upon your fan I press,

Ah! Saint Nitouche, you don’t refuse it.