(Vole, vole, mon cour, vole!)
Derrièr’ chez mon père,
Ya un pommier doux,
Tout doux, et iou,
Ya un pommier doux.”
“Don’t you like that song?” she asked. “The tune of it is like the smell of faded rose-leaves, isn’t it?”
And suddenly she began to sing a different one, possibly an improvisation:
“ And so they set forth for the strawberry beds,
The strawberry beds, the strawberry beds,
And so they set forth for the strawberry beds,