ation from the unwashed humanity
who took such interest in him. "I merely wish to know when it will be
convenient for me to have some conversation with mademoiselle, your
charming daughter?"

"May I inquire the reason, monsieur?" said the other.

"Certainly. I have heard of her skill as an artist, and it is possible I
may be able to arrange a London engagement for her."

"Ah," said the landlord deprecatingly, "what a pity! Had monsieur called
here yesterday he could have seen mademoiselle. She has now left Paris
for some weeks."

"Perhaps," said Brett, "I may have the pleasure of meeting her
elsewhere. I myself depart to-morrow on a tour in the South of France.
It is possible that mademoiselle may be employed in some of the southern
cities. If so I will certainly make it my business to call on her."

Beaucaire came a step nearer. Clearly he did not recall the barrister's
face. He knew well that his daughter's attainments were not such as to
command the eager search of London theatrical managers, yet he was
assured that the individual who now addressed him was not an ordinary
music-hall agent, hunting up fees.

He lowered his voice, after an angry glance at the loungers in the room,
which caused them to turn to the tables with redoubled interest.

"I regret," he said, "that mademoiselle is not professionally engaged at
this moment. Indeed, she has not appeared in public for some months. May
I ask how monsieur came to hear of her name?"

"It is the easiest matter in the world," said Brett with his ready
smile, producing his note-book and rapidly turning over the leaves. "I
have here the names and addresses of a large number of artists whom I
was recommended to visit. Mademoiselle's name was given to me among
others at the Cirque d'Hiver, where I heard most encouraging accounts of
her skill. You see, monsieur," he went on, "that in England the public
are not acquainted with any other language than their own, and when
Continental artists are engaged we prefer those whose performance
consists chiefly of acrobatic or other feats in which dialogue is
unnecessary."

The barrister's ready explanation was sufficient. Nevertheless Beaucaire
was puzzled. But even the most vulgar or brutal Frenchman is endowed
with a certain amount of politeness, and in this instance Gros Jean felt
that his visitor should be treated deferentially.

"I am most sorry," he cried, "to be unable to assist monsieur any
further. If, however, yo