"_Entrez, Messieurs_, and see the beautiful female Juggler of Naples, who tosses ten sharp knives and burning brands into the air at one and the same time, not lets one of them touch the ground--who tosses a cannon ball, an apple and a piece of paper--who spins two dishes on the end of a stick, with one hand, while she rolls a hoop with the other--a lady who has acted before all of the crowned heads of Europe. There will never again be such great artists, a performance unsurpa.s.sed and even unequaled in the history of the Oire."

Philidor's adjectives had given out--as had his breath--and so he paused. As he did so he heard Olga's voice beside him in a single but curiously expressive syllable.

"Well?" it asked.

His eyes met hers without other token of recognition than a slight twinkle of amus.e.m.e.nt.

"Mademoiselle wishes to enter? Ten sous, if you please." And then with a loud voice directed over her head, "_Entrez, Messieurs et Dames_, and see the hand to hand struggle between a man and a savage beast! A contest at once magnificent and appalling--one which you will remember to the end of your days, a spectacle to describe to your children and to your children's children--"

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Philidor had felt rather than seen the figure which had slowly wedged through the crowd."]

"John Markham!" Olga's voice sounded shrilly in English. "Stop howling at once and listen to me."

"_Oui, Mademoiselle_, ten sous, if you please. The performance is about to begin and--"

"This performance has been going on quite long enough. What on earth are you doing here in Alenon?"

"Barking," said Markham with a grin. "Also doing crayon portraits at two francs fifty a head," and he pointed to the sign beside the poster of Cleofonte breaking the chains which advertised the nature of his talents in glowing terms. "My name is Philidor, Mademoiselle," bowing; "itinerant portrait painter--at your service."

"Oh, do stop that nonsense and explain--"

"There's nothing to explain. Here I am. That's all."

"How did you get here--to Alenon?"

"Walked--it's my custom."

"Rom Rouen?"

He nodded. "I'm a member of the Troupe Fabiani of Strolling Acrobats,"

he laughed. "I'm learning the gentle art of bear-baiting. Won't you come in?"

She searched his face keenly and accepted his invitation, first handing him her fifty centime piece, which he dropped without comment into his pocket. The enclosure was already filled, so he closed the entrance flap and mounted guard over it--and Olga stood beside him, her glance pa.s.sing swiftly from one object to another. Cleofonte's bout with Toma.s.so was more than usually dramatic, but her eyes roved toward the dressing tent, eyeing with an uncommon interest the Signora when she appeared.

"Your troupe is not large," Olga remarked when the program had been explained to her.

"No, we are few, my dear Olga, but quite select. You have yet to see Luigi perform and the Child Wonder--and the _Femme Orchestre_--a remarkable person who plays five instruments at the same time."

Olga watched the show for a while with an abstracted air.

"You surely can't mean that you enjoy this sort of thing?" she questioned at last.

He laughed. "I do mean just that--otherwise I shouldn't be here, should I?"

"Oh, you're impossible!" she said impatiently.

"I know it," she laughed with a shrug, "and the worst of it is that I'm quite shameless about it."

He was really an extraordinary person. She couldn't help wondering how it was that she could have cared for him at all, and yet she was quite sure that he had never seemed more interesting to her than at this moment. But it was quite evident that she did not believe him. The performance was soon over, the people crowded toward the entrance, Olga, alone at last, remaining. Indeed, she was making herself very much at home, and to Philidor's chagrin insisted upon examining the Signora's knives and torches, the heavy weights of Cleofonte, the chains and the larger fragments of the stone which Luigi had broken on Cleofonte's chest. It was all very interesting. Then she sat upon a bench, her glance still roving restlessly, lighting at last upon the house wagon.

"And that," she indicated, "is where you sleep?"

"Not I. That's for the women. I sleep out when I can--indoors when I must."

Still she gazed at it, and while Philidor, his inquietude rapidly growing, watched her keenly, she rose and walked slowly around the _roulette_, peering under it where the dogs lay chained, and up at its small windows and door as though fascinated by a new and interesting study of contemporary ethnology.

The active members of the Fabiani family had all retired to the dressing tent and were occupied in the preliminaries to supper.

Philidor's mind was working rapidly, but, think as he would, nothing occurred to him which might effectually serve to stem the tide of his visitor's dangerous curiosity. She paused before the door, looking upward, and Philidor watched the window fearfully.

"It seems absurdly small for so many people. A baby, too, you said?"

she asked coolly.

"Oh, yes, there are beds," he said; "two of them--quite comfortable, I believe."

"I'm awfully anxious to see what it's like inside. The Signora wouldn't mind, I'm sure--" She put one foot on the steps and reached up for the k.n.o.b.

It was locked he knew, for there was a key on the inside, but the knowledge of that fact did nothing to decrease his alarm.

"Oh, I wouldn't bother," he muttered helplessly. "There's nothing--"

But before he could move she had stepped up and with a quick movement had flung the door wide open.

Philidor closed his eyes a second, praying for a miracle, then followed Olga's gaze within. The beds were there, the shelves of dishes, the racks of clothing, but of Hermia there was no sign. How the miracle had happened Philidor knew not, unless she had gone through the roof, but with the discovery his courage returned to him in a gush, and when Olga's eyes keenly sought his face he was calmly smoking. Just at this moment a sound was heard, of merry, rippling laughter, light and mocking, which had a familiar ring. Olga looked around quickly toward the spot behind her from which the sounds seemed to come, her gaze meeting nothing but the canvas wall. They heard the sounds again, this time faintly, as though receding in the distance overhead. It was most extraordinary. She glanced toward the dressing tent from which the Signora was just emerging.

"Would you like to visit the green room?" asked Philidor, amusedly directing the way. "We are happy family, as you will see."

"Who was laughing, John Markham?" asked his visitor.

His eyes were blanks.

"Laughing? I don't know. Everyone laughs here. Stella perhaps--or the Circa.s.sian lady?"

She shook her head, still eyeing him narrowly, but he only smoked composedly and, after looking into the tent, threw open the flaps with a generous gesture and invited her to enter. Cleofonte and Luigi were counting their money, but when the t.i.tle of their visitor was announced, rose and bowed to the ground. It was seldom that the Fabiani family had been done so great an honor.

Olga returned his compliments with others quite as graceful upon the quality of the performance she had witnessed, but her eyes, as Philidor saw, were still roving carelessly but with nice observance of minuti, taking in every object in sight. Upon the ground in the corner where it had been thrown lay a drum and cymbals fastened to a framework of wire and straps.

Philidor grew unquiet.

"How curious!" she exclaimed, examining the contrivance.

"It is the music," put in the Signora pleasantly, "of our _Femme Orchestre_. She is ill. We were forced to leave her yesterday at La Mesle. To-morrow she will play again. The Contessa will hear her, perhaps?"

Philidor breathed gratefully. A firmer hand than his now controlled their destinies. Olga searched the Signora's face, which was as innocent as that of the _bambino_.

"_Grazia, Signora_," she returned politely; "perhaps I shall."

Philidor accompanied her to the gate, rea.s.sured and jocular.