us credit
until we have had time to fill our purse again, and get our finances in
good order."

"But what piece can we play, in case we find our village?" asked Scapin.
"Our repertoire is sadly reduced, you know. Tragedies, and even the
better class of comedies, would be all Greek to the stupid rustics,
utterly ignorant as they are of history or fable, and scarcely even
understanding the French language. The only thing to give them would be
a roaring farce, with plenty of funny by-play, resounding blows, kicks
and cuffs, ridiculous tumbles, and absurdities within their limited
comprehension. The Rodomontades of Captain Matamore would be the very
thing; but that is out of our power now that poor Matamore is dead."

When Scapin paused, de Sigognac made a sign with his hand that he wished
to speak, and all the company turned respectfully towards him to listen
to what he had to say. A little flush spread itself over his pale
countenance, and it was only after a brief but sharp struggle with
himself that he opened his tightly compressed lips, and addressed
his expectant audience, as follows: "Although I do not possess poor
Matamore's talent, I can almost rival him in thinness, and I will take
his role, and do the best I can with it. I am your comrade, and I want
to do my part in this strait we find ourselves in. I should be ashamed
to share your prosperity, as I have done, and not aid you, so far as
lies in my power, in your adversity, and this is the only way in which
I can assist you. There is no one in the whole world to care what may
become of the de Sigognacs; my house is crumbling into dust over the
tombs of my ancestors; oblivion covers my once glorious name, and the
arms of my family are almost entirely obliterated above the deserted
entrance to the Chateau de Sigognac. Perhaps I may yet see the
three golden storks shine out brilliantly upon my shield, and life,
prosperity, and happiness return to the desolate abode where my sad,
hopeless youth was spent. But in the meantime, since to you I owe my
escape from that dreary seclusion, I beg you to accept me freely as
your comrade, and my poor services as such; to you I am no longer de
Sigognac."

Isabelle had laid her hand on his arm at his first sentence, as soon as
she comprehended what he meant to say, to try to stop him, and here she
made another effort to interrupt; but for once he would not heed her,
and continued, "I renounce my title of baron for the present;