d dance like Florian: he clapped
his feet together at every bar of the music, so that all eyes were
directed to his glistening boots. Sometimes, in the middle of the
dance, he would cry, "Sing out!" Not his feet, but all his body and
soul, rose and sunk in accordance with the music: he was a dancer all
over. He would not stand still for an instant; and, when the musicians
stopped to rest a while, he said to the clarionet, "Make your old bones
rattle." "Pour something in to make it swell," was the answer. Florian
threw six creutzers on the table.

Late at night the "barber's dance" was executed, in which Florian
appeared in all his glory. A man was brought in, looking as white as
milk, with a hump before and behind, and bandaged from head to foot
with white sheets and kerchiefs. You would hardly have recognised the
College Chap. The band played the air of the song,--

"Oh, my! I feel so bad!
Bring me the barber's lad."

A chair was placed in the middle of the room, and the patient deposited
upon it. The expected man of simples came, hung round about with
knives, with a huge pinch nose, and a wig of tow. It was Florian who
thus entered, amid roars of laughter.

With comical gestures, he skipped around the patient, opened the
bandage on his arm, bled him, and finally stuck a knife into the hump
and left it there. The sick man fell dead, and a funeral-march was
played. The unlucky surgeon rushed around the room in an agony of
despair, pulled his wig out by handfuls, and threw them into the faces
of the company. The music died away. At last, laying his hand upon his
forehead, he collected his scattered wits, and cried, "Music!" Notes of
mourning responded. He knelt down beside the dead man, opened his
mouth, and drew out yards on yards of white tape, but without producing
any relief. Then, taking a quart-tumbler, he filled it to the brim with
wine, placed it on his forehead, and lay down on his back beside the
sick man, moving in time to the music. All held their breath in
expectation of a crash; but the feat was successfully performed. The
entire contents of the glass were now poured down the patient's throat.
He struck about him and threw off his disguise. Florian did the same:
the band struck up a gallop: the old squire's Babbett ran up and danced
with Constantine, Crescence and Florian followed suit, and all were
once more in motion. The fictitious misfortunes with which they had
a