age, sullen grace, her magnificent poise and
strange glance. He had learned at his hotel that she was called "_Debora
la folle_," and that she was the daughter of the still crazier Baki. Was
she some sort of a gypsy, or a Continental version of Salvation Army
lass? No one knew. Each year, at the beginning of autumn, the pair
wandered into Rouen, remained a few weeks, and disappeared. Where?
Paris, perhaps, or Italy or--_la bas!_ The shoulder-shrugging proved
that Baki and his daughter were not highly regarded by reputable
citizens of Rouen, though the street people followed their music and
singing as long as it lasted. Singing? queried Ferval; does the woman
sing?

He became more interested. His visits to the country where Pissarro
painted and Flaubert wrote revealed other possibilities besides those
purely artistic ones in which this amateur of fine shades and sensations
delighted. He did not deny, on the esplanade where behind him stood
Bonsecours and the monument of Jeanne d'Arc, that souvenirs of the girl
had kept his eyelids from closing during the major portion of the night.
To cool his brain after the midday breakfast he had climbed the white,
dusty, and winding road leading to the Monumental Cemetery wherein, true
Flaubertian, he had remained some moments uncovered at the tomb of the
master. Now he rested, and the shade of the trees mellowed the slow dusk
of a Rouen evening.

A deep contralto voice boomed in his ears. As he had seen but a scant
half-dozen persons during the afternoon on the heights, Ferval was
startled from his dreams. He turned. Sitting on a bank of green was the
girl. Her hands were clasped and she spoke carelessly to her father,
who, unharnessed from his orchestra, appeared another man. Rapidly
Ferval observed his striking front, his massive head with the long,
white curls, the head of an Elijah disillusioned of his mission. He,
too, was sitting, but upright, and his arm was raised with a threatening
gesture as if in his desolating anger he were about to pronounce a
malediction upon the vanishing twilighted town. Ferval moved
immediately, as he did not care to be caught spying upon his queer
neighbours. He was halted by their speech. It was English. His surprise
was so unaffected that he turned back and went up to the two and bade
them good-day. At once he saw that the girl recognized him; the father
dropped his air of grandeur and put on the beggar's mask. What an actor!
thought Ferval, at