A 1940s chansonnette sings in a smoky bar. Her voice, deep and rich, fills the space, penetrating the hearts of listeners. She is dressed in an elegant black dress with ruffles that accentuates her slender figure. On her head is an exquisite hat with a veil, adding mystery to the image of the girl. Her eyes are bright with mascara, glistening in the dim light, and a small smile plays on her lips. In her hands, she holds a microphone, as if it is an extension of her soul., It is surrounded by the gloomy atmosphere of an old cabaret. The walls are covered with faded wallpaper, yellowed posters and posters. On the tables are glasses of half-finished whiskey and ashtrays full of cigarette butts. A lamp is dimly lit in the corner behind the bar, casting a soft glow on the faces of the diners. They are mostly men in suits and hats, sitting at tables, lost in thought or talking in low voices. Some of them do not take their eyes off the singer, mesmerized by her voice., The air is thick with cigar smoke. On stage, apart from the chansonnette, there is nothing superfluous — just a microphone and an old grand piano in the corner, on which the pianist sometimes plays.