bows and disappears.]

DAUGHTER. Mother, something _is_ going to happen at last.

MOTHER. Oh, child, were you as weary as that?

[The TALKER comes in at the door, followed by the SINGER and the
FIDDLER. The SINGER is a pleasant-looking man of middle height, the
FIDDLER a tall, silent girl. The TALKER himself is short and round, with
a twinkling eye. Each wears a cap with a red feather in it.]

TALKER. Madame, your humble and most devoted servants. I have the
honour to present to you her Royal Sweetness the Princess Carissima, His
Flutiness the Duke of Bogota, and myself a mere Marquis.

DAUGHTER. Oh, Mother, they're wandering minstrels.

MOTHER. I bid you all welcome, sir.

TALKER. Permit me to expound further. The Princess--a courtesy title
bestowed by myself last Michaelmas Day--plays upon the fiddle with an
unerring beauty which makes strong men weep. You shall hear her. I pray
you have your handkerchers ready. His Flutiness the Duke--the title was
granted last Candlemas--has a voice of a rare richness. He is cursed
with a melancholy disposition most pleasing. He suffers from a surfeit
of rejected love. A most waggish companion withal.

DAUGHTER. Oh, what a shame!

SINGER. You must not believe all that Johannes says, ladies.

MOTHER. I had already learnt that much, sir.

TALKER. For myself, I play upon the pipe. You shall hear. (He plays
"cuckoo" with an air.)

SINGER. The only notes he knows, ladies.

TALKER (indignantly). Oh, fie, Sir, fie! I protest, Madame, he maligns
me. Have I not a G of surpassing splendour, of a fruitiness rarely
encountered in this vale of tears? Madame, you must hear my G. Now,
where is it? (He arranges his fingers with great care on the pipe.)
I have it. (He blows a G, and bows deeply first to MOTHER and then to
DAUGHTER.)

SINGER. Marvellous!

MOTHER (to TALKER). I thank you, Sir.

DAUGHTER. Oh, Mother, isn't he splendid?

TALKER (to MOTHER). Would you like my G again, Madame?

MOTHER. Not just now, I thank you, sir. Doubtless we shall feel more in
need of it a little later on. But tell me, Sir, have you no other talent
to match the singing and playing of your friends?

FIDDLER. He talks.

MOTHER. I had noticed it.

TALKER. This gift of talking with which her Royal Sweetness is good
enough to credit me, irksome though it is to a man of silent habit like
myself, a creature, as you will have noticed, of taciturn disposition;
this--I--(Frankly) Madame, I have lost