he told it with the eloquence of his entire
frame. He bent himself double and threw out his hands.

"_Il etait saoul comme un porc_," he shouted.

And then came the hush of death. The rest of the artless tale about the
man as drunk as a pig was never told. The head mistress, indignant
majesty, strode up the room.

"M. Pujol, you have a strange way of giving French lessons."

"I believe, madame," said he, with a polite bow, "in interesting my
pupils in their studies."

"Pupils have to be taught, not interested," said the head mistress.
"Will you kindly put the class through some irregular verbs."

So for the remainder of the lesson Aristide, under the freezing eyes of
the head mistress, put his sorrowful class through irregular verbs, of
which his own knowledge was singularly inexact, and at the end received
his dismissal. In vain he argued. Outraged Minerva was implacable. Go he
must.

* * * * *

We find him, then, one miserable December evening, standing on the
arrival platform of Euston Station (the academy was near Manchester), an
unwonted statue of dubiety. At his feet lay his meagre valise; in his
hand was an enormous bouquet, a useful tribute of esteem from his
disconsolate pupils; around him luggage-laden porters and passengers
hurried; in front were drawn up the long line of cabs, their drivers'
waterproofs glistening with wet; and in his pocket rattled the few
paltry coins that, for Heaven knew how long, were to keep him from
starvation. Should he commit the extravagance of taking a cab or should
he go forth, valise in hand, into the pouring rain? He hesitated.

"_Sacre mille cochons! Quel chien de climat!_" he muttered.

A smart footman standing by turned quickly and touched his hat.

"Beg pardon, sir; I'm from Mr. Smith."

"I'm glad to hear it, my friend," said Aristide.

"You're the French gentleman from Manchester?"

"Decidedly," said Aristide.

[Illustration: STANDING ON THE ARRIVAL PLATFORM OF EUSTON STATION]

"Then, sir, Mr. Smith has sent the carriage for you."

"That's very kind of him," said Aristide.

The footman picked up the valise and darted down the platform. Aristide
followed. The footman held invitingly open the door of a cosy brougham.
Aristide paused for the fraction of a second. Who was this hospitable
Mr. Smith?

"Bah!" said he to himself, "the best way of finding out is to go and
see."

He entered the carriage, sank back luxuriously