e him very wise, possibly a little
bit cunning.

"You think I am just a trifle mad, eh?" he queried.

With one voice, or rather two voices raised in a swift unison, they
disclaimed the insinuation. They only recognised several facts: that
he was very kind, very generous, very hospitable.

Papa Peron sipped the excellent Chambertin and fell into a meditative
mood.

"I lead a very lonely life, and youth, especially struggling youth,
has a great attraction for me. I watched you two poor children
to-night through the little peep-hole in my blind. _Mon Dieu!_ I
guessed the position at once. You had come out in the snow and bitter
wind, to try and make a living. You are two honest people, I am sure.
_N'est-ce pas?_" They had been speaking in English up to the present
moment, but momentary excitement, the stimulus of the Burgundy, had
made him indulge in his native tongue.

They assured him that they were.

Papa Peron smiled a little sardonically. "Of course you are. If you
were inclined in other directions, you with your talents, your sister
with her good looks, would have taken up more paying trades than this.
What have you earned to-night?" he concluded sharply.

Anita answered in a faltering voice. "Over three shillings, Monsieur."

The sardonic smile vanished. A look of infinite compassion spread over
the lined face.

"My poor children. Virtue is indeed its own reward." He turned to
Nello, and his eyes flashed fire. "And that charlatan, Bauquel, gets a
hundred guineas for a single performance. And he is not in the same
street with you."

"But Bauquel is a genius, surely, Monsieur?" ventured Corsini
deferentially. "I have never heard him play, certainly, but his
reputation! Surely he did not get that for nothing?"

He spoke very cautiously, for although he had not known Papa Peron for
very long, he had recognised that under that kindly and polite
demeanour was a very peppery temperament. If he were crossed in
argument, the old Frenchman might prove a very cantankerous person.

Peron snapped his fingers. "Bauquel, bah! A man of the Schools, a
machine-made executant. He never half understands what he attempts to
render." Again he snapped his contemptuous fingers. "Bauquel, bah! A
charlatan? It amazes me that the public runs after him. He has a
powerful press, and he employs a big _claque_. _Voila!_ On the
business side, I admit he is great; on the artistic side, not worth a
moment's consideration."

"You un