uitar from his hands and begins whacking him over the head
with it, so furiously that it is quickly broken through, and slipping
over the unhappy serenader's head remains fixed round his neck, so that
he is completely at the mercy of his assailant. Holding fast to the
handle of the guitar, Leander hauls him about the stage, banging him
against the side-scenes, dragging him forward to the footlights--making
the most absurd scene imaginable--and finally, letting go of him
suddenly, sends him sprawling on the ground. Fancy the ridiculous
appearance of the unfortunate bully, who looked as if he had put his
head through a frying-pan!

But his miseries are not yet at an end. Leander's valet had been
arranging a clever little plot to prevent the fulfilment of the proposed
marriage between Isabelle and Captain Matamore. At his instigation,
a certain Doralice, very pretty and coquettish, makes her appearance,
accompanied by a fierce-looking brother--represented by Herode--carrying
two immensely long rapiers under his arm, and evidently "spoiling for a
fight." The young lady complains that she has been shamefully jilted by
Captain Matamore, who has deserted her for Isabelle, the daughter of
a certain Pandolphe, and demands instant reparation for this outrage,
adding that her brother is ready to exact it at the point of the sword,
or avenge the insult by taking the life of the heartless villain who has
trifled with her youthful affections.

"Make haste to give this rascal his quietus," says Pandolphe to his
future son-in-law; "it will be only child's play for you, who have
fearlessly encountered, single-handed, a whole army of Saracens."

Very reluctantly, and after many most absurd grimaces, Matamore crosses
swords with Doralice's ferocious brother, but he trembles so that the
latter, with one quick movement, sends his weapon flying out of his
hand, and chastises him with the flat of his sword until he roars for
mercy.

To cap the climax, Mme. Leonarde comes upon the scene, mopping her
streaming eyes with an enormous pocket-handkerchief, sighing and
sobbing, and bewailing herself. She goes straight to Pandolphe and shows
him a written promise of marriage, over Matamore's signature, cleverly
counterfeited; whereupon the poor wretch, convicted of such abominable
and complicated perfidy, is assailed with a new shower of blows and
curses, and finally condemned, by the unanimous vote of all present, to
marry old Mme. Leonarde--who