he reflection
that if he understood anything at all about the theatre, he had for
fifteen livres a month acquired something that would presently be
earning him as many louis.

The company's reception of the canevas now confirmed him, if we
except Polichinelle, who, annoyed at having lost half his part in the
alterations, declared the new scenario fatuous.

"Ah! You call my work fatuous, do you?" M. Binet hectored him.

"Your work?" said Polichinelle, to add with his tongue in his cheek:
"Ah, pardon. I had not realized that you were the author."

"Then realize it now."

"You were very close with M. Parvissimus over this authorship," said
Polichinelle, with impudent suggestiveness.

"And what if I was? What do you imply?"

"That you took him to cut quills for you, of course."

"I'll cut your ears for you if you're not civil," stormed the infuriated
Binet.

Polichinelle got up slowly, and stretched himself.

"Dieu de Dieu!" said he. "If Pantaloon is to play Rhodomont, I think
I'll leave you. He is not amusing in the part." And he swaggered out
before M. Binet had recovered from his speechlessness.

CHAPTER IV. EXIT MONSIEUR PARVISSIMUS

Ar four o'clock on Monday afternoon the curtain rose on
"Figaro-Scaramouche" to an audience that filled three quarters of the
market-hall. M. Binet attributed this good attendance to the influx of
people to Guichen for the fair, and to the magnificent parade of his
company through the streets of the township at the busiest time of
the day. Andre-Louis attributed it entirely to the title. It was the
"Figaro" touch that had fetched in the better-class bourgeoisie, which
filled more than half of the twenty-sous places and three quarters
of the twelve-sous seats. The lure had drawn them. Whether it was to
continue to do so would depend upon the manner in which the canevas
over which he had laboured to the glory of Binet was interpreted by
the company. Of the merits of the canevas itself he had no doubt. The
authors upon whom he had drawn for the elements of it were sound, and he
had taken of their best, which he claimed to be no more than the justice
due to them.

The company excelled itself. The audience followed with relish the sly
intriguings of Scaramouche, delighted in the beauty and freshness of
Climene, was moved almost to tears by the hard fate which through four
long acts kept her from the hungering arms of the so beautiful Leandre,
howled its delight over the