es, and was giving but scant
attention to the saurians. He was casting furtive glances around him,
as though looking for someone.

If he were awaiting the arrival of some member of the fair sex, it
hardly seemed the place for a love-tryst, this melancholy Zoological
Gardens, misty, with the leaves falling, gradually baring the trees at
the approach of winter.

A uniform suddenly appeared in one of the paths: it was a sergeant
belonging to the commissariat department, who was passing rapidly,
bent on business.

Directly the fair young man saw him he left his place by the palisade
and hid himself behind a tree, muttering:

"Decidedly one has to be constantly on the defensive!" He unbuttoned
his coat and looked at his watch.

"Twenty-five minutes past three! He will not be long now!"

* * * * *

Two hundred yards from this spot, before the chief entrance to the
Gardens, a crowd had gathered; inveterate idlers jostling one another
in the circle they had formed round a sordid individual, a miserable
old man with a long white beard, who was drawing discordant sounds
from an old accordion.

Some kindly housewives, some shock-headed errand-boys, were
exercising their lungs to the utmost, trying to help the musician to
play according to time and tune.

But, in spite of the goodwill about him, the poor man could not manage
to play one single bar correctly, and his helpers bawled in vain.

At the end of a few minutes the accordion player gave up his attempts,
and, taking his soft and ancient hat in his hand, he put in practice a
much easier exercise: he made the round of the company to collect
their offerings. The crowd melted like magic, leaving him solitary,
hat in hand, and with only a few sous in it for his pains. With a
resigned air, the man pocketed his meagre takings, then, pushing the
accordion up on his back where it was held in place by a strap, he
walked, bent, staggering, towards the gate. He passed through it and
entered the Gardens.

The old man went to a secluded seat behind the museum. Almost
immediately he saw a well-dressed young man approaching, the very same
who some ten minutes before had been staring at the crocodiles with
but lukewarm interest.

The young man seated himself beside the old accordion player without
seeming to notice him. Then, in an almost inaudible voice, as if
speaking to himself, the young man uttered these words:

"Fine weather! The daisy is