Digue, dingue, donne
L’heure sonne.
Digue, dingue, di....
C’est midi.
When the song was finished I went into my bedroom and made myself into a belle dame for lunch.
My aunt had followed me. “But, my dear,” said she, “you are mad to think I am going to eat with all these workmen. Certainly in all Paris there is no one but yourself who would do such a thing.”
“No, no, Aunt; it is all right.”
And I dragged her off, when I was dressed, to the dining-room, which was the most habitable room of the house. Five young men solemnly bowed to my aunt, who did not recognise them at first, for they had changed their working clothes and looked like five nice young society swells. Madame Guérard lunched with us. Suddenly in the middle of lunch my aunt cried out, “But these are the workmen!” The five young men rose and bowed low. Then my poor aunt understood her mistake and excused herself in every possible manner, so confused was she.
XXIV
ALEXANDRE DUMAS—L’ETRANGÈRE—MY SCULPTURE AT THE SALON
One day Alexandre Dumas, junior, was announced. He came to bring me the good news that he had finished his play for the Comédie Française, L’Etrangère, and that my rôle, the Duchesse de Septmonts, had come out very well. “You can,” he said to me, “make a fine success out of it.” I expressed my gratitude to him.