"Oh! please be kind enough to hold your tongue, baron, with your troum troum!"
"I dry yet to find mein tune."
"You can find it later; listen now to Rochebrune, who is going to sing us a risqué little chansonnette."
"Ach! gut, gut! risqué! tat must pe sehr amusing! Risqué! Vat is a risqué chanson?"
"That means lively; but we may as well speak out, as we are all men: it means naughty."
"Ach! id vill pe sehr bretty so! I loafe tat kind! Ve vill much laugh. Let us hear te naughty song. Ha! ha! How id vill pe amusing! Ho! ho!"
The baron laughed so heartily in anticipation of the pleasure in store for him, that Frédérique had much difficulty in silencing him; he ceased at last, and contented himself with muttering between his teeth: "Naughty, risqué!—risqué, naughty!" while I sang to the tune of the Baiser au Porteur:
| "'Quand on t'offre une promenade, |
| Lisa, prends garde au temps qu'il fait! |
| S'il fait du vent, dis-toi malade, |
| Ou bien, l'on en profiterait |
| Pour te faire ce qu'on voudrait. |
| Va, je ne ris pas, sur mon âme! |
| Par ce temps-la je fus prise souvent! |
| Ma chère, il n'est pour une femme |
| Rien de plus traître que le vent.'"[B] |
I paused after the first verse and glanced at Frédérique. She smiled; that was a good sign. As for the baron, he repeated each line after me, sometimes with variations, and with an accompaniment of loud guffaws. We heard him mumbling:
"Noding so slyer als der vind! Ho! ho! ho! Gut, gut! Naughty!"