"You want my advice; you see I can give you lessons. Proceed, what have you to say?"
"You must know I am in love with a shop-girl, that is to say, her father and mother keep a shop. You surely know the ways of such folks, their customs and habits. What means would you advise me to employ in order to succeed?"
"Make yourself beloved."
"That takes too long. When a violent fancy seizes me, I find it impossible to wait."
"Indeed! 'Tis wonderful, but, darling, you interest me greatly. Let's see. First of all is the shop-girl poor? Is she in great want? Does she seem very hungry?"
"How? Whether she is hungry? What the devil do you mean?"
"Colonel, I can not deny your personal attractions—you're handsome, you're brilliant, you're charming, you're adorable, you're delicious—"
"Irony?"
"What do you think! Would I dare to? Well, as I was saying, you're delicious! But, in order for the poor girl to appreciate you duly, she must first be dying of hunger. You have no idea how hunger—helps to find people adorable."
Whereupon Pradeline sailed in to improvise a new ditty, not, this time, in merry vein, but with marked bitterness, and keeping time with such a slow measure that her favorite tune sounded melancholic: