[The great M. Paulus appears and sings several Chansons in a confidentially lugubrious tone, and with his forefingers thrust into his waistcoat pockets. Curiously enough, our First Briton is less successful in following M. Paulus than he was with the Artistes who preceded him—but this is entirely owing to the big drum and cymbals, which will keep coming in and putting him out—something in this manner:—
M. Paulus. Et quand j'rentr', ce n'est pour rien—
Ma belle me dit: "Mon pauv' bonhomme,
Tu n'a pas l'air de"—(The cymbals: brim-brin-brien!)
Ell' m' flanqu' des giffl's—(The drum: pom-pom-pom-pom!)
Refrain (which both Britons understood).
"Sur le bi—sur le bô; sur le bô, de bi, de bô.
Sur le bô—sur le bi; sur le bi, de bô, de bi!" &c., &c., &c.
First Briton (after twenty minutes of this sort of thing). That's the end, I suppose. They've let down the curtain. Capital, wasn't he? I could listen to him all night!
Second B. (as they pass out). So could I—delightful! Don't know when I've enjoyed anything so much. The other people don't seem to be moving, though. (Consults programme.) There's another Part after this; Paulus is singing again. I suppose you'll stay?
First B. Well—it's rather late, isn't it?
Second B. (much relieved). Yes. Not worth while going back now (with a yawn). We must come here again.
First B. (making a mental resolution to return no more). Oh, we must; nothing like it on our side of the Channel, y' know.
Second B. (with secret gratitude). No, we can't do it. (Walk back to their hotel in a state of great mental exhaustion, and finish the evening with a bock on the Boulevards.)