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“Love is Always in Season, the latest and greatest of valse-songs, created by the incomparable Mayol,” announces the vocalist. A chord from the harmonium and violin, and the singer, in a not unmelodious voice, proceeds to assure us that “though the snow may fall, or the skies may frown, or the seas may roar, Love, sweet love, is Always in Season.”

General applause. Cries of “C’est chic, ça” from the charming, bareheaded girls. Sighs and sentimental glances from their faithful adorers.

“Buy Love is Always in Season. Only two sous, only two sous! The Greatest, the most Exquisite valse-song of the day,” cries the vocalist, holding up copies of the song. “Buy it at once, and we will sing it all together.”

At least twenty copies are sold. “Attention,” cries the vocalist. And then, under the gas-lamp, what a spectacle and what song! Everyone sings; yes, even this huge, apoplectic cabman: “Though the snow may fall....” Everyone sings: the soldier, the workmen, the decrepit old charwomen: “Though the skies may frown....” Everyone sings: the very policeman’s lips are moving. And how the charming, bareheaded girls sing and sing; and how amorously, how passionately do their adorers raise their voices: “Though the seas may roar.... What matter, what matter!... Since love, sweet love, is always in season!”