"Yes."
"Only three verses! That's a pity!" And Frédérique put her glass to her lips, adding: "After all, where's the harm? In the old days, men sang more and they weren't so ill-tempered as they are to-day. Poor French gayety! what has become of thee? O merry meetings of the Caveau! In truth, it was only to sing that men sought admission to thy meetings."
"Troum, troum, traderi dera. Ach! I remember me mein song now."
"Let's have it, baron; we are listening."
The baron opened his enormous mouth, and we supposed that a stentorian voice would issue therefrom; but we were agreeably surprised. When he sang, Herr von Brunzbrack had a shrill voice resembling that of a child of two; it reminded me strongly of the voice of the Man with the Doll.
| "'Moi, qui jadis ch'affre eu le gloire, |
| De chansonner bour Montemoiselle Iris, |
| Che vais avec votre bermission fous dire l'histoire |
| Du jeune perger Paris; |
| Sur le mirlidon.'"[E] |
"Enough! enough!" cried Frédérique; interrupting him without ceremony; "we know that, my dear Brunzbrack. You needn't have taken so much pains to remember that song."
"Vat! you know id?"
"Who doesn't know the Judgment of Paris; to the air of mirliton, mirlitaine? I think Collé wrote it. Perhaps I ought not to have admitted that I know it; but as I have told you that I am a man, that shouldn't astonish you."
"Id is sehr bretty! Id ended alvays mit: Mirlidon, mirlidaine, mirlidon, don, don."