got rid of Robeccal. Then Caillette kissed
him, in her lace and spangles. Light as a bird, she skipped up to him
and whispered in his ear:

"Am I not lovely to-night, papa?"

"Adorable!" he answered. He did not know that his darling was comparing
herself with Irene.

Fanfar had his hands full, and seemed so little interested in the
audience that Caillette was enchanted, for in her heart lurked a fear
that some one would love her Fanfar. But after all it did not matter,
for he cared little for all the beauties in the world. He handed La
Roulante the stones which were to form her apparent nutriment. He
whispered a new witticism to Bobichel, and gave Robeccal some advice as
to the manner in which he should hold his sword. Then he took a position
where he could see without being seen.

"Now, Fanfar," said Iron Jaws, "it is your turn! Look out for
Caillette!"

The girl was to execute a new step on the tight-rope, and when she
appeared, led forward by Fanfar, and made the three deep "reverences,"
there was a hum of admiration. She was charming--her delicacy was
fairy-like. She lightly placed her foot on Fanfar's hand and sprang upon
the rope. Standing there, she looked at Irene, who was leaning back with
an air of indifference.

Fanfar now took up a violin, and raising the instrument to his shoulder,
he began. He played at first very slowly. Caillette, with her arms
folded--she had long before renounced the balancing pole--advanced up
the rope. She knelt, and remained absolutely motionless. Then there came
a peremptory summons from the violin. She arose and extended her arms
above her head, and began to dance. Fanfar was an artist, his playing
was wonderful. The music became faster and faster, and Caillette's
little feet seemed hardly to touch the rope, they twinkled like stars,
while Fanfar's bow looked only like a silver thread. He dropped the
violin, and Caillette leaped into his arms. As she touched the ground,
she threw at Irene a glance of laughing triumph.

Then came Robeccal's turn. He was a horrible object when he swallowed
the swords. It was not admiration, it was horror, that he inspired. He
seemed to enjoy this, and had imitated drops of blood on the sabres that
he put down his throat. A few delicate persons shouted "Enough!" and
Gudel appeared, not as Gudel, be it understood, but as Iron Jaws, the
athlete. His enormous shoulders, his bull neck, contrasted with Fanfar's
delicate form. Gudel tossed heavy