When he came to the second verse:
"Dat night belang dark and colo"
he heightened the effect by tearing the wig from his head, and now he looked for all the world like an old nodding mandarin, with his slits of eyes and his polished bare ivory skull.
It was fascinatingly and overwhelmingly funny. Never in her life had she seen such a mirth-provoking, side-splitting piece of clowning. You could have died of envy if you hadn't been Lilly Czepanek, the renowned mimic and impersonator, who, when the spirit moved her, had only to open her lips to rouse a tornado of applause.
Her incomparable repertoire had been growing rusty for too long. "La belle Otéro" was not yet stale, and Tortajada was dancing her ravishing dances, while Matchiche was just becoming the rage.
All you had to do was to tilt your hat a little further back, to raise your black skirt--the dessous was part of what had been brought away yesterday, and would not have disgraced a Saharet--and then you were off!
And she was off! Off like a whirlwind over the carpet, slippery with the yolks of eggs that she had spilt. Hop, skip--olé! olé! Yes, you must shout "Olé!" and clap your hands. "Olé-é-é----"
Dear uncle bawled; the floor rocked in great waves.... Lamps and mirrors danced with her. All hell seemed to be let loose.
"Konni, why don't you shout 'Olé'? ... Don't be so down ... Olé!"
"Uncle, you will have this on your conscience!"