us jamais etre,
Mais en bien finir--
Voila mon desir!"--Anon.

Barty went third class to Bruges, and saw all over it, and slept at
the "Fleur de Ble," and heard new chimes, and remembered his
Longfellow.

Next morning, a very fine one, as he was hopefully smoking his
centime cigar with immense relish near the little three-horsed
wagonette that was to bear him to Blankenberghe, he saw that he was
to have three fellow-passengers, with a considerable amount of very
interesting luggage, and rejoiced.

First, a tall man about thirty, in a very smart white summer suit,
surmounted by a jaunty little straw hat with a yellow ribbon. He was
strikingly handsome, and wore immense black whiskers but no
mustache, and had a most magnificent double row of white, pearly
teeth, which he showed very much when he smiled, and he smiled very
often. He was evidently a personage of importance and very well off,
for he gave himself great airs and ordered people about and chaffed
them, and it made them laugh instead of making them angry; and he
was obeyed with wonderful alacrity. He spoke French fluently, but
with a marked Italian accent.

Next, a very blond lady of about the same age, not beautiful, but
rather overdressed, and whose accent, when she spoke French, was
very German, and who looked as if she might be easily moved to
wrath. Now and then she spoke to the gentleman in a very audible
Italian aside, and Barty was able to gather that her Italian was
about as rudimentary as his own.

Last and least, a pale, plain, pathetic little girl of six or eight,
with a nose rather swollen, and a black plait down her back, and
large black eyes, something like Leah Gibson's; and she never took
these eyes off Barty's face.

Their luggage consisted of two big trunks, a guitar and violin (in
their cases), and music-books bound together by a rope.

"Vous allez a Blankenberghe, mossie?" said the Italian, with a
winning smile.

Barty answered in the affirmative, and the Italian smiled ecstatic
delight.

"Je souis bienn content--nous ferons route ensiemble...." I will
translate: "I call myself Carlo Veronese--first barytone of the
theatre of La Scala, Milan. The signora is my second wife; she is
prima donna assoluta of the grand opera, Naples. The little ragazza
is my daughter by my first wife. She is the greatest violinist of her
age now living--un' prodige, mossie--un' fenomeno!"

Barty, charmed with his new acquaintance, ga