ty which it had
excited. Jacques Chacot evidently possessed the talent of a showman.
He had enlarged the front of his cottage so as to form a sort of
theatre, the inner part serving as a stage. We found him standing at
the door with a couple of stout young fellows, his sons, ready to
receive visitors, for he allowed no one to go in until he had obtained
payment. A strong bar was run across in front of the stage, which
Jacques Chacot explained was to prevent the spectators from approaching
too close to the bear, who, he observed, was sometimes seized with
sudden fits of ferocity, and might, he was afraid, do some injury. The
room was already half full when Pierre and I entered, and a considerable
number of people came in afterwards. They were all country people,
decently dressed, who behaved with the usual politeness the French
exhibit when not excited by any special cause.

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.

LARRY'S DISGUISE.

At last Jacques Chacot, looking round the room, gave notice that his
bear would at once commence his performance. In a short time a door
opened, and he appeared, leading out what looked like a large brown
bear, followed by one of his sons, carrying a couple of chairs. Jacques
Chacot, who had in his hand a long pole with a sharp point to it, took
his seat on one chair, and made signs to the bear to sit down on the
other, which it immediately did. The lad then handed a glass of wine to
the bear, which, making a bow to the audience, it drank off, putting the
glass, it seemed to me, almost down its throat, in a very curious
fashion.

Its keeper then ordered it to stand on its head, which it did with
seeming unwillingness, kicking its hind legs up in the air.

"Now show mesdames and messieurs how you can dance," cried Chacot.
"Strike up, Jean," he added to his son, who, getting down a riddle from
the wall, commenced scraping away, and producing a merry tune. Up got
the bear, and began shuffling and leaping about, in a fashion which
strangely resembled an Irish jig, at the same time singing in a voice
which sounded remarkably like that of a human being. The audience
applauded; but the bear at length, getting tired from its exertions,
took a chair and sat itself down in a corner. On this Chacot shouted to
it to go on; but the bear, being seized with sulkiness, refused, till
the fellow, giving it a poke with his pole, the bear sprang up and
recommenced its performance, Jean fiddling away as befor