s, it is
a sad tale! One fatal day she met, on the streets of Pekin, a young
ruffian, fiendish, but beautiful as an angel, and she loved him--the
unfortunate woman loved him!"

The last words were uttered in the most tragic tone as he raised his
clasped hands to heaven.

During this tirade he had whirled around, so that he found himself
facing the banker's wife, whose countenance he closely watched while he
was speaking.

"You are surprised, gentlemen," he continued; "I am not. The great
Bilboquet has proved to us that the heart never grows old, and that the
most vigorous wall-flowers flourish on old ruins. This unhappy woman is
nearly fifty years old--fifty years old, and in love with a youth! Hence
this heart-rending scene which should serve as a warning to us all."

"Really!" grumbled a cook dressed in white satin, who had passed the
evening in carrying around bills of fare, which no one read, "I thought
he was going to amuse us."

"But," continued the clown, "you must go inside of the booth to
witness the effects of the mandarine's folly. At times a ray of reason
penetrates her diseased brain, and then the sight of her anguish would
soften a heart of stone. Enter, and for the small sum of ten sous you
shall hear sobs such as the Odeon never echoed in its halcyon days. The
unhappy woman has waked up to the absurdity and inanity of her blind
passion; she confesses to herself that she is madly pursuing a phantom.
She knows but too well that he, in the vigor and beauty of youth, cannot
love a faded old woman like herself, who vainly makes pitiable efforts
to retain the last remains of her once entrancing beauty. She feels
that the sweet words he once whispered in her charmed ear were deceitful
falsehoods. She knows that the day is near when she will be left alone,
with nothing save his mantle in her hand."

As the clown addressed this voluble description to the crowd before him,
he narrowly watched the countenance of the banker's wife.

But nothing he had said seemed to affect her. She leaned back in her
arm-chair perfectly calm, and occasionally smiled at the tragic manner
of the showman.

"Good heavens!" muttered the clown uneasily, "can I be on the wrong
track?"

He saw that his circle of listeners was increased by the presence of the
doge, M. de Clameran.

"The third picture," he said, after a roll of drums, "depicts the
old mandarine after she has dismissed that most annoying of
guests--remorse--from