ut we will not disturb our present harmony
with the unpleasant anticipation of misfortunes which we still hope
to avert. We love our Leandre, for all his faults. Let me make you
acquainted with our company."

And he proceeded to introduction in detail. He pointed out the long and
amiable Rhodomont, whom Andre-Louis already knew.

"His length of limb and hooked nose were his superficial qualifications
to play roaring captains," Pantaloon explained. "His lungs have
justified our choice. You should hear him roar. At first we called him
Spavento or Epouvapte. But that was unworthy of so great an artist. Not
since the superb Mondor amazed the world has so thrasonical a bully been
seen upon the stage. So we conferred upon him the name of Rhodomont
that Mondor made famous; and I give you my word, as an actor and a
gentleman--for I am a gentleman, monsieur, or was--that he has justified
us."

His little eyes beamed in his great swollen face as he turned their gaze
upon the object of his encomium. The terrible Rhodomont, confused by so
much praise, blushed like a schoolgirl as he met the solemn scrutiny of
Andre-Louis.

"Then here we have Scaramouche, whom also you already know. Sometimes he
is Scapin and sometimes Coviello, but in the main Scaramouche, to which
let me tell you he is best suited--sometimes too well suited, I think.
For he is Scaramouche not only on the stage, but also in the world. He
has a gift of sly intrigue, an art of setting folk by the ears, combined
with an impudent aggressiveness upon occasion when he considers himself
safe from reprisals. He is Scaramouche, the little skirmisher, to the
very life. I could say more. But I am by disposition charitable and
loving to all mankind."

"As the priest said when he kissed the serving-wench," snarled
Scaramouche, and went on eating.

"His humour, like your own, you will observe, is acrid," said Pantaloon.
He passed on. "Then that rascal with the lumpy nose and the grinning
bucolic countenance is, of course, Pierrot. Could he be aught else?"

"I could play lovers a deal better," said the rustic cherub.

"That is the delusion proper to Pierrot," said Pantaloon,
contemptuously. "This heavy, beetle-browed ruffian, who has grown old in
sin, and whose appetite increases with his years, is Polichinelle. Each
one, as you perceive, is designed by Nature for the part he plays. This
nimble, freckled jackanapes is Harlequin; not your spangled Harlequin
into which mo