intoned, in her clear and sympathetic voice, a popular song, with a
rhythmical refrain:

My father bid me
Go sell my wheat.
To the market we drove
"Good-morrow, my sweet!
How much, can you say,
Will its value prove?"

The embroidered rose
Lies on my glove.


"A hundred francs
Will its value prove."
"When you sell your wheat,
Do you sell your love?"

The embroidered rose
Lies on my glove!


"My heart, Monsieur,
Will never rove,
I have promised it
To my own true love."

The embroidered rose
Lies on my glove.