"Quand je danse avec le grand frisé
Il a l'air de m'enlacer...."
Then her wonderful hands with their glinting finger-nails went up to her head, and she half-closed her eyes, as though she were swooning:
"Je perds la tête...."
Now her eyes were opened, and they glared wildly, and her lips trembled, and her slim body quivered with animal hunger:
"'Suis comme une bête."
And now, she smiled, and pride was on her face; one hand rested on her hip, and she swaggered up the stage, as the words fitted into the opening lilt:
"'Y pas chose—suis sa chose à lui
'Y pas mal—Quoi? C'est mon mari...."
Her face became at once miraculously tender. She expressed great and overpowering love—a love so strong that it swept everything before it—a love that was without restraint, passionate, fierce and unquenchable. Her arms were outstretched. Her dark blouse, opened at the neck, revealed her white throat throbbing with her song: