--What? Your husband?... So even he goes over there?
Then, with an apologetic air, but movingly, she said:
--What can you do, monsieur? Men are like that, they don't like tears,
and I'm always breaking down, since our little girls died.... Then,
this dump of a place, where nobody comes, is so miserable.... Well
then, when he gets really fed up, my poor dear José goes over the road
for a drink, and, the woman from Arles gets him to sing with that
gorgeous voice of his. Hush!... There he goes again. And, trembling,
and with huge tears that made her look even more ugly, she stood there
in front of the window, hands held out in ecstasy, listening to her
José singing to the woman from Arles:
The first was bold and whispered to her,
You're so beautiful my dear!