“You are not French, madame?”
“Oh, no! I am from Alsa—No, no, I’m from some other place! I have forgot again; I am awful stupid!”
Mademoiselle Chichette said all this so comically, and rested her eyes on Chérubin so often, that the young man paid no heed to the incoherency of her speech, but became more and more enamored of the lovely stranger.
“Do you enjoy Paris, madame?”
“Oh yes! I enjoy it; but I am always thinking of my little pays!”
“Ah! you regret it?”
“Yes! I would like to see my little pays again!”
“You love your country—pays—that is perfectly natural.”
“Ah, yes! he’s a tourlourou now.”
Here Chérubin again failed to understand, but Poterne returned, luckily for Mademoiselle Chichette, who was beginning to forget her part and to talk at random.