As soon as they had taken their coffee on the terrace, the Marquise asked: "Well, darling, are you going to take a walk today with your friend Servigny? It is a good time to enjoy the coolness under the trees." Yvette gave her a quick glance. "No, mamma, I am not going out to-day." The Marquise appeared annoyed, and insisted. "Oh, go and take a stroll, my child, it is excellent for you."

"Every man must have his wage. I have mine from the Italian government " After a while, Aaron asked the Marchesa if she would sing. "Shall I?" she said. "Yes, do." "Then I will sing alone first, to let you see what you think of it I shall be like Trilby I won't say like Yvette Guilbert, because I daren't. So I will be like Trilby, and sing a little French song.

It was said that Miss Yvette, who was short and stout, and had a rosy German face, had paid five thousand dollars at one clip for photographs of herself in a new wardrobe; and her pictures were sent to the newspapers in bundles of a dozen at a time.

Will you rely on me?" We looked at each other. "I will," she said. I stood before her, and she took my hand. "You say you fear. I hope your fears are groundless candidly, I can't see how they can be otherwise. But suppose anything should happen. Well, I shall be at your service." At that moment some one knocked and entered. It was Yvette. She avoided my glance.

A softened gaiety filled their hearts, they felt that it would be so delightful to dine there in the country, with that great river and that twilight for a setting, breathing that pure and fragrant air. The Marquise had taken Saval's arm, and Yvette, Servigny's. The four were alone by themselves. The two women seemed entirely different persons from what they were at Paris, especially Yvette.

She did not appear again until the dinner hour, very pale and serious. Servigny had bought from a country storekeeper a workingman's costume, with velvet pantaloons, a flowered waistcoat and a blouse, and he adopted the local dialect. Yvette was in a hurry for them to finish, feeling her courage ebbing. As soon as the coffee was served she went to her room again.

It throws glamour over the "seventies," and, for that matter, on to the "eighties." Here are the characters of Flaubert and Maupassant as we should wish them to be. That déjeuner by the Seine was probably organized by the resourceful Jean de Servigny, and there, sure enough, is Yvette with a fringe. The purest of painters becomes historical by accident.

Muscade and I will climb the hill and sit on the grass and read." And turning toward Servigny she asked: "That is understood?" "At your service, Mam'zelle," he replied. Yvette ran to get her hat. The Marquise shrugged her shoulders with a sigh. "She certainly is mad." she said.

This is Yvette Guilbert's domain; she sings it, as no one has ever sung it before, with a tragic realism, touched with a sort of grotesque irony, which is a new thing on any stage.

He went back to Yvette, who, not lacking in shrewdness, sensed something of the situation. "I wish I hadn't come," she said, uneasily. "I don't ... if you hain't got no objection to dancin' jest with me." "It'll look queer if I dance all of them with you." "Jest ask me, and see if I care," he said, desperately. "It's like I'd want to have it. I couldn't never dance more'n I want to with you.