Some French girls began to sing:
"Les voyez-vous?
Les hussards! Les dragons! La gar-rrde!
Glorieux fous...."
and a very shrill little soprano who was probably a German, but declared she was a Dane, sang:
"It's a larway to Tipperary,
It's a larway to go,
It's a larway to Tipperary,
It's a la-a-way to go!
Gooba, Piccadilli,
Farwa lar-sa sca-aa!
It's a lar-lar-way to Tipperary
Ba-ma-ha's ra-tha."
After which somebody hit her on the nose with a vanilla ice: then the police came in and quieted the uproar by arresting several people on the outskirts of the riot.
The next evening, when Sylvia and Queenie presented themselves for the performance, the manager told them that they were dismissed: he could not afford to let the Petit Trianon gain a disorderly reputation. Sylvia was glad that the decision of taking a definite step had been settled over her head. As they were passing out, they met Lottie looking very happy.
"I've been engaged for three hundred francs to play the piano in the orchestra. The accompanist broke his wrist last night in the row," she told them. "So they sent for me in a hurry."
"We've been sacked," Sylvia said.
"Oh, I am sorry!" the fat girl exclaimed, trying to curb her own pleasure. "What will you do?"
Sylvia shrugged her shoulders.