ed them for all the
representations to be given by the troupe, so that success was insured.
The dressing-room of the tennis players had to serve as green-room, and
dressing-room as well for the comedians, large folding screens being
disposed round the toilet tables of the actresses, so as to shut them
off as much as possible from the gentlemen visitors always lounging
there. Not a very agreeable arrangement for the former, but the best
that could be done, and highly approved by the latter, of course.

"What a pity it is," said the tyrant to Blazius, as they were arranging
what pieces they could play, seated at a window looking into the
interior court of the Armes de France, "what a great pity it is that
Zerbine is not with us here. She is almost worth her weight in gold,
that little minx; a real treasure, so full of fun and deviltry that
nobody can resist her acting; she would make any piece go off well--a
pearl of soubrettes is Zerbine."

"Yes, she is a rare one," Blazius replied, with a deep sigh, "and I
regret more and more every day our having lost her. The devil fly away
with that naughty marquis who must needs go and rob us of our paragon of
waiting-maids."

Just at this point they were interrupted by the noise of an arrival, and
leaning out of the window saw three fine mules, richly caparisoned in
the gay Spanish fashion, entering the court, with a great jingling of
bells and clattering of hoofs. On the first one was mounted a lackey
in gray livery, and well armed, who led by a long strap a second mule
heavily laden with baggage, and on the third was a young woman, wrapped
in a large cloak trimmed with fur, and with her hat, a gray felt with
a scarlet feather, drawn down over her eyes, so as to conceal her face
from the two interested spectators at the window above.

"I say, Herode," exclaimed the pedant, "doesn't all this remind you of
something? It seems to me this is not the first time we have heard the
jingling of those bells, eh?"

"By Saint Alipantin!" cried the tyrant, joyfully, "these are the very
mules that carried Zerbine off so mysteriously. Speak of a wolf--"

"And you will hear the rustling of his wings," interrupted Blazius,
with a peal of laughter. "Oh! thrice happy day!--day to be marked with
white!--for this is really Mlle. Zerbine in person. Look, she jumps down
from her mule with that bewitching little air peculiar to herself, and
throws her cloak to that obsequious lackey with a nonchala