VOUS ÊTES AIMABLE

You see me sitting here next to my brother. We are performing together in the one-act play: Het Duivelsbruggetje. The third person obviously the devil.
I am 11 years old, my brother 3 years older. His school is the St. Bonaventura lyceum, an all boys school. And that's why I was asked to play the silent part. That is what I remember I play a silent part. and I mostly walk while my brother holds his arm around my shoulders.
The play, I only found out some days ago, is written by Henri Ghéon (1875-1944) a French writer, who converted at the beginning of World War I to the roman catholic faith,  and wrote many plays in which saints play an important part. The title of our play Het Duivelsbruggetje is dutch, and the original title is: La Parade du Pont au Diable, after the legend of Saint Cado, 1925.
One moment during one of the rehearsels is etched, however, on my memory. A boy comes towards me and stops in front of me and says in a solemn voice: Vous êtes aimable.
I have no answer to that, I only know that I understand the words, at that time we learned French at an early age. I love the melodiousness of the language and assume that this boy loves to practice his sentences, because he shares my love for the French language.
There is another sentence that sometimes comes into my mind.
Several years later (perhaps I am 16 or 17), when my parents, my little sister and I stay for the night in Paris and we walk on the dark streets. I walk forward and at the Avenue de l'Opéra an elegant man comes around the corner. He is dressed in evening dress and nearing me, he clearly says: Voulez-vous danser avec moi? Do you want to dance with me?
I turn around immediately, run towards my parents, seeking refuge there.
Unable to cope with such a nice sentence.
And that's why I will never know how well this gentleman danced.

My haiku:

Come dance with me and
Learn the words of the world now
It is not too late

And the proverb:

I will not dance to every fool's pipe.

1732  Fuller.  no. 2644