mation she had made, and could only stand awkwardly
about the stage, and act as a dummy for her to hang her emotions on.
Nevertheless, she managed it perfectly, and when the end of the little
play came, instead of the two galloping off the stage hand in hand,
the young girl bade farewell to the cobbler's boy in an improvised
speech which made the cobbler himself, who was in the audience, and
several other persons, to weep profusely.

The applause was sharp and loud; the young girl, as if disdaining it,
had walked into the little booth used for a dressing room. Then
Monsieur Voltaire said in Mademoiselle Lecouvreur's ear:

"I am certain now who it is. She is the young niece of Peggy
Kirkpatrick. I have often seen her in Peggy's coach."

"And in such company!" cried Mademoiselle Lecouvreur. "Surely Madame
Riano can not know it."

"Certainly she does not know it," replied Monsieur Voltaire, "but this
scoundrel of a Jacques Haret knows it. Come here, Jacques Haret."

Jacques advanced, all smiles and holding his fine hat and feathers in
front of him to hide his broken linen.

"It is a great pity," said Monsieur Voltaire to him sternly, "that you
are such an unmitigated rogue. You have great talents for this sort of
thing, and if you had a rag of respectability, you would be capable of
managing the Theatre Francais itself."

Jacques Haret grinned, and went cut and thrust at Monsieur Voltaire.

"I beg to differ with you, Monsieur," replied Jacques. "I did not
inherit any talent for affairs, my family not having been in trade,
nor have I any gift for running after the great, of which the only
reward is sometimes a good caning, the dukes and princes pretending to
be very sympathetic and meanwhile laughing in their sleeves. Do you
suppose, Monsieur, that the oxen did not laugh when the poor toad
swelled and burst?"

Now, as all this was a perfectly open reference to Monsieur Voltaire's
history and adventures, it bit deep. Monsieur Voltaire turned pale and
glared with those wonderful eyes of his at Jacques Haret--but Jacques
was no whit abashed. As I said before, those gentlemen-rascals are
hard to abash.

There were several persons standing about, listening and understanding,
and a smile went around at Monsieur Voltaire's expense. Mademoiselle
Lecouvreur looked distressed. Jacques Haret, seeing his advantage,
assumed a patronizing tone to Monsieur Voltaire and said:

"I have always admired your plays and verses very