Puslapio vaizdai
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NINETTE.

Well, as to that, he must be tall,
Or say, not "tall,"—of middle size;
And next, he must have laughing eyes,
And a hook-nose,-with, underneath,
O! what a row of sparkling teeth!—

NINON (touching her cheek suspiciously.) Has he a scar on this side?

NINETTE.

Hush!

Someone is coming. No; a thrush:
I see it swinging there.

NINON.

Go on.

NINETTE.

Then he must fence, (ah, look, 'tis gone !)
And dance like Monseigneur, and sing
"Love was a Shepherd ":-everything
That men do. Tell me yours, NINON.

NINON.

Shall I? Then mine has black, black hair.
I mean he should have; then an air

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Half sad, half noble ; features thin;

A little royale on the chin;

And such a pale, high brow. And then,

He is a prince of gentlemen ;—

He, too, can ride and fence, and write
Sonnets and madrigals, yet fight

No worse for that

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On this old turquoise reliquaire,—

My great,-great Grandmother's !!—

(After a pause.)

I feel so sad.

NINETTE!

NINETTE.

I too. But why?

NINON.

Alas, I know not!

NINETTE (with a sigh).

Nor do I.

"GOOD-NIGHT, BABETTE!”

"Si vieillesse pouvait !—"

SCENE. A small neat Room. In a high Voltaire Chair sits a white-haired old Gentleman.

MONSIEUR VIEUXBOIS.

ВАВЕТТЕ.

M. VIEUXBOIS (turning querulously).
AY of my life! Where can she get?
BABETTE! I say! BABETTE !—Babette !

DA

BABETTE (entering hurriedly).

Coming, M'sieu'! If M'sieu' speaks
So loud, he won't be well for weeks!

M. VIEUXBOIS.

Where have you been?

BABETTE.

Why M'sieu' knows :—

April !... Ville-d'Avray !...Ma'am'selle ROSE!

M. VIEUXBOIS.

Ah! I am old,—and I forget.

Was the place growing green, BABette?

ВАВЕТТЕ,

But of a greenness !—yes, M'sieu' !
And then the sky so blue !—so blue!
And when I dropped my immortelle,
How the birds sang !

(Lifting her apron to her eyes.)

This poor Ma'am'selle!

M. VIEUXBOIS.

You're a good girl, BABETTE, but she,—

She was an Angel, verily.

Sometimes I think I see her yet

Stand smiling by the cabinet;

And once, I know, she peeped and laughed

Betwixt the curtains.

Where's the draught?

(She gives him a cup.)

Now I shall sleep, I think, BABETTE ;—
Sing me your Norman chansonnette.

BABETTE (sings).

"Once at the Angelus

(Ere I was dead),

Angels all glorious

Came to my Bed ;-
Angels in blue and white

Crowned on the Head."

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