Sans attrait pour elle;
Et se baigné dans le ruisseau
Seule mais fidèle.
Quel tourment! plus de tourtereau!
Pauvre tourterelle!"
By a lively pantomime she acted the poor turtledove. The lost turtle-dove was, without doubt, Henri Segel, who almost burst his sides laughing. The signora after this exhibition drew near her cavalier, who presented the two gentlemen.
"Ah! Signori Polachi! I like the Poles exceedingly," cried she, turning toward Jacob. "E Viva la povera Pologna! Ah, ah, ah! Is it true that in your country it is so cold that sometimes the fowls freeze in winter, and do not thaw out until spring? Bologne--Pologne; same thing, isn't it? Have you been at Genoa? Did you go to the theatre? I dance and I sing at Carlo Felici. I am at the head of the chorus. I am promised before long the rôle of mezzo-soprano. Have you seen me play the sorceress? No? That's too bad."
"Dear Gigante," interrupted Henri, "if you tell everything at once there will be no more to say."
"I know more songs than any one else," replied she gayly. "I have a throat full. And if I can find no more to say, I can look at these gentlemen. That will drive you wild with jealousy."
"But I am not jealous."