ent. "And to get bread one must have money. If I had all the money
you would not eat bread."

"I should eat _brioches_," laughed Paragot quoting Marie Antoinette.

"You always laugh at me, Master," said Blanquette wistfully.

Paragot drew his bow across the strings.

"There is nothing in this comical universe I don't laugh at, my little
Blanquette," said he. "I am like good old Montaigne--I rather laugh than
weep, because to laugh is the more dignified."

Laripet struck a chord on the piano. Paragot joined in and played three
bars. Then he stopped short. There was not the vestige of a laugh on his
face. It was deadly white, and his eyes were those of a man who sees a
ghost.

The four bright happy beings, two ladies and two men who had just
entered the garden and at whom his stare was directed, took no notice,
but followed a bowing maitre d'hotel to a table that had been reserved
for them.

I sprang to the platform, on the edge of which I had been squatting at
Blanquette's feet.

"Are you ill, Master?"

He started. "Ill? Of course not. Pardon, Monsieur Laripet.
_Recommencons._"

He plunged into the merry tune and fiddled with all his might, as if
nothing had happened. But I saw his nostrils quivering and the sweat
running down his face into his beard.

CHAPTER VIII

WHEN _Funiculi Funicula_ was over he sat on the wooden chair provided
for him and wiped his face. His hands shook. He beckoned me to come
near.

"Do I look too grotesque a mountebank Tomfool?" he asked in English.

He was wearing the pearl-buttoned velveteen suit whose magnificence he
had enhanced by newly purchased steel-buckled shoes and black stockings,
and to a less bigoted worshipper than me I suppose he must have looked a
mountebank Tomfool; but I only gaped at his question.

"Do I?" he repeated almost fiercely.

"You look beautiful, Master," said I.

He passed his lean fingers wearily over his eyes. "Pardon, my little
Asticot. There are things in Heaven and Earth etc. Myriads of Mysteries.
As many in the heart of man as in your Wonder Houses yonder. Get me some
brandy. Three _petits verres_ poured into a tumbler."

I went off to the restaurant and obtained the drink. When I returned
they were playing the mocking chorus that runs through "Orphee aux
Enfers."

The number over, Paragot drained the glass at one gulp. The company
broke into unusual applause. Some one shouted "_Bis!_"

"Get me some more," said he. "Do you k