good soul from death. But the doctor has given
him up----"

"What is the matter with him?"

"He is dying of grief, jaundice, and liver complaint, with a lot of
family affairs to complicate matters."

"And a doctor as well," said Gaudissart. "He ought to have had Lebrun,
our doctor; it would have cost him nothing."

"M. Pons' doctor is a Providence on earth. But what can a doctor do, no
matter how clever he is, with such complications?"

"I wanted the good pair of nutcrackers badly for the accompaniment of my
new fairy piece."

"Is there anything that I can do for them?" asked La Cibot, and her
expression would have done credit to a Jocrisse.

Gaudissart burst out laughing.

"I am their housekeeper, sir, and do many things for my gentlemen--"
She did not finish her speech, for in the middle of Gaudissart's roar of
laughter a woman's voice exclaimed, "If you are laughing, old man, one
may come in," and the leading lady of the ballet rushed into the
room and flung herself upon the only sofa. The newcomer was Heloise
Brisetout, with a splendid _algerienne_, such as scarves used to be
called, about her shoulders.

"Who is amusing you? Is it this lady? What post does she want?" asked
this nymph, giving the manager such a glance as artist gives artist, a
glance that would make a subject for a picture.

Heloise, a young woman of exceedingly literary tastes, was on intimate
terms with great and famous artists in Bohemia. Elegant, accomplished,
and graceful, she was more intelligent than dancers usually are. As she
put her question, she sniffed at a scent-bottle full of some aromatic
perfume.

"One fine woman is as good as another, madame; and if I don't sniff the
pestilence out of a scent-bottle, nor daub brickdust on my cheeks--"

"That would be a sinful waste, child, when Nature put it on for you to
begin with," said Heloise, with a side glance at her manager.

"I am an honest woman--"

"So much the worse for you. It is not every one by a long chalk that
can find some one to keep them, and kept I am, and in slap-up style,
madame."

"So much the worse! What do you mean? Oh, you may toss your head and
go about in scarves, you will never have as many declarations as I have
had, missus. You will never match the _Belle Ecaillere of the Cadran
Bleu_."

Heloise Brisetout rose at once to her feet, stood at attention, and made
a military salute, like a soldier who meets his general.

"What?" asked Gaudissart, "ar