That evening she was to present to the public the outcome of her efforts.
Suzanne, in the dress of a pretty little Pierrette, was already in the ring. With her usual go she was showing off trained rabbits. They jumped through hoops, climbed up on her, and ate seeds from her hand. It made a little interlude before Helia’s number.
At the entrance of the stables clowns and firemen, reporters and men of sport made up a guard of honor. There was even an impresario from New York, who spoke to Suzanne when she came out.
“Brava, mademoiselle! Ah! if you only knew how to sing!”
“If I only knew how to sing!—Je t’écoute!”
“Brava! brava! You’ll have a success in New York! You’ll come on the stage, they’ll ask you if you know how to sing—and you’ll answer—how was it you said it?”
“Je t’écoute [I hear you].”
“That’s it! You must also bring in a little can-can—do you know how to dance?”
“There’s a question for you!” And with the point of her elegant foot Suzanne, scarcely seeming to touch it, sent the shining silk hat of the impresario rolling on the ground.
“Brava! Perfect!” the impresario cried in an ecstasy of joy. “I’ve found what I’m looking for—a typical French girl!”