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You see, this Duchess de la Ferte is showing off to a sister-duchess a poor girl of genius, like a puppet or an ape. "'Allons, mademoiselle, parlez Madame, vous allez voir comme elle parle Elle vit que j'hesitois a repondre, et pensa qu'il falloit m'aider comme une chanteuse a qui l'on indique ce qu'on desire d'entendre Parlez un peu de religion, mademoiselle, vous direz ensuite autre chose.
"Oh, slightly," she answered, "but continue your story, it is so interesting." "Where was I? Oh, yes, let me see. Have you ever heard of Leonie Blas?" Madame de Corantin smiled at the sudden question. "Oh yes, the chanteuse. What has she to do with it?" "Well, you see, Ramsey and Leonie were more or less colles, and Ramsey introduced old Fellowes to her.
Here sometimes will sing a celebrated tenor, bulky and brazen, pouring out from his bull-throat such liquid devotional notes as might lift the mind of the listener to Heaven ifone were not so positive that a moral fiend sang them; here sometimes may be seen the stout chanteuse who is the glory of open-air cafes in the Champs Elysees, kneeling with difficulty on a velvet hassock and actually saying prayers.
She began to sing through her nose about "l'amour," &c., and those lions did look so bored; the eldest one simply groaned with ennui. His face said as plainly as if he could speak, "At it again to-night!" and "Oh! que cela m'embête." When the song was finished, the Belle Chanteuse stretched herself on two chairs, making herself into a sort of bridge for the animals to jump over.
All in the family, so to speak, and the chanteuse will sing amusing verses about the prime minister as if she really knew what he was going to do, and, curiously enough for things are sometimes very much in the family, indeed, in these little capitals maybe she does know!
She looked at it all with curiosity, touched the papers, and lifted them to look underneath. Bertin approached her, saying: "You will disarrange my disorder." Without replying to this, she inquired: "Who is the gentleman that wishes to buy your Baigneuses?" "An American whom I do not know." "Have you come to an agreement about the Chanteuse des rues?" "Yes. Ten thousand." "You did well.
However, the management is appreciative if they accept the invitation of some dignitary of the army, of administration, or of finance, who seeks the honor of hearing from the chanteuse, in a private room and with a company of friends not disposed to melancholy, the Bohemian songs of the Vieux Derevnia. They sing, they loll, they talk of Paris, and above all they drink.
Two minutes later he made his reappearance in the café by the front way, and went to his place behind the counter with the satisfied face of a successful diplomatist. His little sanctum was typical in its arrangement of the Parisian bourgeois. Numerous picture post-cards of a famous chanteuse of the Folies Bergeres proclaimed Monsieur's taste in beauty.
But until that day one could fancy the romanticists and realists lambasting each other in the papers, the soldiers grinding away in their dusty camps, the pretty ladies rolling gayly down the sprinkled asphalt, and the chanteuse singing over the footlights: "Que pense le Premier Ministre? On n'sait pas " "Is he for the Germans? Has he made a convention With perfidious Albion? Nobody knows..."
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