out to continue on
her way, when the old fellow half opened his cloak for an instant to
give her a glimpse of a bulky kind of a box which was slung across his
chest.

Immediately the singer went straight towards him.

"A programme?" she asked him in a loud voice.

He gave an affirmative nod for all the world to see: then whispered
low.

"Go home directly the concert is over! I must speak to you!"

"Very good," replied the singer in a submissive tone.

Then aloud she queried:

"You are a musician, are you?"

The man in the cloak gave answer audibly:

"Yes, my dear, I am a musician also, but not of your sort! It's not
gaiety I deal in!" With that, the unknown displayed an accordion which
was slung across his chest.

* * * * *

Nichoune hurried to her dressing-room. She must get away before her
admirers demanded her reappearance on the platform. The old man
quitted the establishment. Stepping out of the vestibule, dimly
lighted by a flickering jet of gas, he strode along the narrow and
tortuous streets of Chalons at a great pace. This pedestrian seemed
out of humour: he marched along, bent beneath the weight of his
accordion, tapping the road violently with the point of his long
climbing stick. Taking a circuitous route, he at last reached a sort
of little inn. It appeared a poor kind of a place, but clean. The old
fellow entered with a resolute air. The porter, half asleep, offered
him a candle which he lit with a twist of paper, kindled at the
gas-jet. The old man mounted the stairs to his room and closed the
door carefully. Having satisfied himself that the window shutters were
fastened, he took off his cloak, lit his lamp, drew up a chair, and
leaned his elbow on the table. The light fell on his face, and it was
easy to recognise the man who had spoken to the mistress of Corporal
Vinson: he was none other than Vagualame, the beggar-assassin.

Before long there was a knock at the door.

"Who is there?"

"I ... Nichoune!"

Vagualame rose and opened to her.

"Come in, my dear!" Vagualame was now the amiable friend.

He looked with delight at the pretty little face of his visitor.

"As pretty as ever, my dear! Prettier than ever!" he cried.

He stopped flattery: the singer evidently disliked it. She seated
herself on the edge of a sofa and stared at him.

"I don't suppose you have come to Chalons just to tell me that!
Nothing serious?"

Vagualame shrugged his shou