iqueurs with absorbed
quiet; the men smoked and drank, talked or read aloud little paragraphs
from their papers with whispering relish.

Then again the piano tinkled, and the same singer appeared, to sing
another song almost identical with the first; but now his nervousness
was less, he won a laugh or two for his political innuendoes, and when
he finished Max clapped his hands, and Blake laughingly followed suit.

"He's a new man," he said; "this is probably his first night."

"His first? Oh, poor creature! What a _debut_! Clap your hands again!"

"Poor creature indeed! He's delighted with himself. Many a better man
has been driven from the stage after his first verse. Your Paris can be
cruel."

Their example had been tepidly followed, and the singer, beaming under
the relaxed tension of his nerves, was smiling and bowing before
entering upon the perils of a third song.

"And what do they pay him?"

"Oh, a couple of francs a song! The fees will grow with his success."

Max gasped. "A couple of francs! Oh, my God!"

"What do you expect? We're not in Eldorado."

"But a couple of francs!"

"Ssh! Don't talk anarchy. Here come the powers that be!"

M. Fruvier was coming toward them, making his way between the seats with
many bows, many apologetic smiles.

"Well, messieurs, and what of our new one? Not a Vagot,
perhaps"--mentioning a famous _comique_ whose star had risen in the
firmament of the _cabaret_--"not a Vagot, perhaps, but not bad! Not
bad?"

"Not bad!" acquiesced Blake.

"Very good!" added Max, pondering hotly upon the wage of the singer,
and regarding M. Fruvier with doubtful glance.

"No! No! Not bad!" reiterated that gentleman, as if viewing the
performance from a wholly impersonal standpoint. "Not bad!" And, still
bowing, still smiling, he wandered on to exchange opinions with his
other patrons, while a new singer appeared, a man whose vast proportions
and round red face looked truly absurd upon the tiny stage, but whose
merry eye and instant friendly nod gained him a murmur of welcome.

With the appearance of the new-comer a little stir of life was felt, and
in obedience to some impulse of his own, Max took a sketch-book and a
pencil from his pocket, and sat forward in his seat, with glance roving
round and round the room, pencil poised above the paper.

"I heard this fellow here twelve years ago," said Blake. "He and Vagot
were young men then. Shows the odd lie of things in this world! Th