eir arms. But that was all the resemblance. Our little platform
stood against the railings separating the garden from the quay. Behind
us shimmered the blue lake, great mountains rising behind; away on the
right, embosomed in the green mountainside, flashed the white Chateau de
Hautecombe. Always in mid-lake a tiny paddle-steamer churned up a wake
of white foam. On the quay itself stood an enchanting little box--a
_camera obscura_--to which I as a fellow artist was given the _entree_
by the proprietor, and in which one could see heavenly pictures of the
surrounding landscape; there were also idle cabs with white awnings, and
fezzed Turks perspiring under furs and rugs which they hawked for sale.
In front of us, within the garden, a joyous crowd of the radiantly
raimented laughed over dainty food set on snowy cloths. Here and there a
lobster struck a note of colour, or a ray of sunlight striking through
the red or gold translucencies of wine in a glass: which distracted my
attention from my orchestral duties and caused an absent-minded jingle
of my tambourine.

What I loved most was to make my round among the tables and mingle
closely with the worshippers. Of the men, clean and correct in their
perfectly fitting flannels, sometimes stern, sometimes mocking,
sometimes pettishly cross, I was rather shy; but I was quite at my ease
with the women, even with those whose many rings and jewels, violent
perfumes and daring effects of dress made me instinctively differentiate
from their quieter and less bejewelled sisters. Blanquette laughingly
called me a "_petit polisson_" and said that I made soft eyes at them.
Perhaps I did. When one is a hundred and fifty it is hard to realise
that one's little scarecrow boy's eyes may have touched the hearts of
women. But the appeal of the outstretched tambourine was rarely refused.

"Get out of this," the man would say.

"But no. Remain. _Il a l'air si drole_--what is your name?"

"_Je m'appelle Asticot, Madame, a votre service._"

This always amused the lady. She would search through an invariably
empty purse.

"Give him fifty centimes."

And the man would throw a silver piece into the tambourine.

Once I was in luck. The lady found a ten-franc piece in her purse.

"That is all I have."

"I have no change," growled the man.

"If I give you this," said the lady, "what would you do with it?"

"If Madame would tell me where to get it, I would buy a photograph of
Madame," said I