ly active. In the
course of one week he had been lawyer, mob-orator, outlaw, property-man,
and finally buffoon. Last Wednesday he had been engaged in moving
an audience of Rennes to anger; on this Wednesday he was to move an
audience of Guichen to mirth. Then he had been concerned to draw tears;
to-day it was his business to provoke laughter. There was a difference,
and yet there was a parallel. Then as now he had been a comedian; and
the part that he had played then was, when you came to think of it, akin
to the part he was to play this evening. For what had he been at Rennes
but a sort of Scaramouche--the little skirmisher, the astute intriguer,
spattering the seed of trouble with a sly hand? The only difference
lay in the fact that to-day he went forth under the name that properly
described his type, whereas last week he had been disguised as a
respectable young provincial attorney.

He bowed to his reflection in the mirror.

"Buffoon!" he apostrophized it. "At last you have found yourself. At
last you have come into your heritage. You should be a great success."

Hearing his new name called out by M. Binet, he went below to find the
company assembled, and waiting in the entrance corridor of the inn.

He was, of course, an object of great interest to all the company. Most
critically was he conned by M. Binet and mademoiselle; by the former
with gravely searching eyes, by the latter with a curl of scornful lip.

"You'll do," M. Binet commended his make-up. "At least you look the
part."

"Unfortunately men are not always what they look," said Climene, acidly.

"That is a truth that does not at present apply to me," said
Andre-Louis. "For it is the first time in my life that I look what I
am."

Mademoiselle curled her lip a little further, and turned her shoulder
to him. But the others thought him very witty--probably because he was
obscure. Columbine encouraged him with a friendly smile that displayed
her large white teeth, and M. Binet swore yet once again that he would
be a great success, since he threw himself with such spirit into the
undertaking. Then in a voice that for the moment he appeared to have
borrowed from the roaring captain, M. Binet marshalled them for the
short parade across to the market-hall.

The new Scaramouche fell into place beside Rhodomont. The old one,
hobbling on a crutch, had departed an hour ago to take the place of
doorkeeper, vacated of necessity by Andre-Louis. So that the exc