Pour notre Exposition,
Il faut nous faire imposition! &c., &c.
SECOND B. (_who not being at home in the language, rather resents his
companion's laughter_). What's that she's saying?
FIRST B. (_who laughed because he knew there was a joke about the
Exhibition_). Eh?--oh! I'll tell you afterwards.
[_Hopes his friend will have forgotten all about it by that time._
SECOND B. (_pertinaciously, as the Singer kisses her hand, and rushes
precipitately off stage_). Well, what was all _that_ about?
FIRST B. (_who, upon reflection, finds that he hasn't the faintest
idea_). Oh, nothing very much--more the _manner_, you know, than
anything else--it's the _men_ who have all the really funny songs.
[_A Male Artiste appears, bowing and kicking up his left leg behind:
the_ FIRST BRITON _bends forward with an anxious frown, determined to
let nothing escape him this time. Fortunately, as_ M. CHARLEMAGNE, _the
Comic Singer, possesses a powerful voice, the_ FIRST BRITON _is able to
follow most of the words, from which, although they reach his ear in a
somewhat perverted form, he contrives to extract intense amusement. This
is how the Chanson reaches him_:--
Seul boulevard silent vous arrete:
Quand monde a tout depart n'amas,
[_He can't quite make out this last word._