lattice window on the left. He listens with a bland and
happy smile until the song is finished.)

TALKER. Brava! Brava! (They turn round towards the window in
astonishment.) A vastly pleasing song, vastly well sung. Mademoiselle
Nightingale, permit me to felicitate you. (Turning to the Mother) The
Mother of the Nightingale also. Mon Dieu, what is voice, of a richness,
of a purity! To live with it always! Madame, I felicitate you again.

MOTHER. I must ask you, sir, to explain the meaning of this intrusion.

TALKER. Intrusion? Oh, fie! Madame, not intrusion. My feet stand
upon the highway. The road, Madame, is common to all. I can quote you
Rex--What does Rex, cap. 27, para. 198, say? _Via_, says Rex, meaning
the road; _communis_ is common; _omnibus_ to all, meaning thereby--but
perchance I weary you?

DAUGHTER. Mother, who is he?

TALKER. Ah, Mademoiselle Nightingale, you may indeed ask. Who is he? Is
he the Pope of Rome? Nay, he is not the Pope of Rome. Is he the Cham of
Tartary? Nay, he is not the Cham of Tartary, for an he were the Cham of
Tartary--

MOTHER. I beg you, sir, to tell us as shortly as you can who you are and
what you want.

TALKER. Madam, by nature I am a taciturn man; Silent John I am named by
my friends. I am a glum body, a reserved creature. These things you will
have already noticed. But now I will commit to you it secret, known only
to my dearest friends. Uncommunicative as I am by nature (he disappears
and reappears at the middle window), I am still more so when compelled
to hold converse with two such ornaments of their sex (he disappears
and reappears at the right-hand window) through a lattice window. Am I
getting any nearer the door?

MOTHER (resigned). Pray, sir, come in and tell us all about it. I see
that we must have your tale.

TALKER. To be exact, Madame, I have two tails who follow me about
everywhere. One is of my own poor sex, a man, a thing of whiskers; the
other has the honour to belong to that sex which--have I said it?--you
and Mademoiselle so adorn. Have I your ladyship's permission?

DAUGHTER (eagerly). Oh, Mother, let them come.

MOTHER. Well, I suppose I must have you all.

TALKER (with a bow). Madame, I shall never forget this. Though I live
to be ninety-three, this will always be engraved upon my memory. My
grandchildren climbing upon my knee will wonder sometimes of what
the old man is thinking. Little will they know--But I will attend you
further within. [He