Starting for the East with the small Michael, Mame had promised to return to time to reopen the schools, and someone pretended to believe them. But two years have passed, and the strange couple no news, if not some enthusiastic salutin on the back of a postcard, regularly sent by the most enchanting places on the planet. Pegeen is out of itself, but Patrick tells her not to worry: aunt Mame turns the world better than anyone else. You as you know, asks Pegeen. Because I traveled with her, before the war. Ah. This Patrick had kept him, but now, to reassure Pegeen, he tells him - revealing how, under his eyes, Mame and Vera have more or less destroyed the Folies Bergère, and then thrown into a very close british family compass At the Court, and squashed by the foundations, which were rather solid, the regular trend of a collective farm in Soviet Russia. As the dotted line of the routes of Mame and Patrick covers half of the globe, and the labels accumulate on the suitcases, Pegeen maybe it's not calmed, but she begins to laugh, laugh, laughing. As far as we also laugh, coming to guess how many MAME lengths manage to disconnect, with the famous motto of her, President Mao: because yes, the revolution-of the heads, habits, conformisms - can now be; And yes, it can be a gala lunch.