motion, "have you a live elephant?"

I admitted that fact.

Presently I said, "I hope the people of Paradise will come to the
circus when we get to Lorient."

"Eh? Not they," said the mayor, wagging his head. "Do you think we
have any money here in Paradise? And then," he added, cunningly, "we
can all see your elephant when your company arrives. Why should we pay
to see him again? War does not make millionaires out of the poor."

I looked miserably around. It was quite true that people like these
had no money to spend on strolling players. But we had to live
somehow, and our animals could not exist on air, even well-salted
air.

"How much will it cost to have your town-crier announce the coming of
the circus?" I inquired.

"That will cost ten sous if he drums and reads the announcement from
here to the chateau."

I gave the mayor ten copper pennies.

"What chateau?" I asked.

"Dame, the chateau, monsieur."

"Oh," said I, "where the Countess lives?"

"The Countess? Yes, of course. Who else?"

"Is the Countess there?"

"Oui, dame, and others not to my taste."

I asked no more questions, but the mayor did, and when he found it
might take some time to pump me, he invited me to share his omelet and
cider and afterwards to sit in the sun among his geraniums and satisfy
his curiosity concerning the life of a strolling player.

I was glad of something to eat. After I had unsaddled my horse and led
him to the mayor's stable and had paid for hay and grain, I returned
to sit in the mayor's garden and sniff longingly at his tobacco smoke
and answer his impertinent questions as good-naturedly as they were
intended.

But even the mayor of Paradise grew tired of asking questions in time;
the bees droned among the flowers, the low murmur of the sea stole in
on our ears, the river softly lapped the quay. The mayor slept.

He was fat, very fat; his short, velvet jacket hung heavy with six
rows of enormous silver buttons, his little, round hat was tilted over
his nose. A silver buckle decorated it in front; behind, two little
velvet ribbons fluttered in futile conflict with the rising
sea-breeze.

Men in embroidered knee-breeches, with bare feet thrust into
straw-filled sabots, sat sunning on the quay under the purple
fig-trees; one ragged fellow in soiled velvet bolero and embossed
leggings lay in the sun, chin on fists, wooden shoes crossed behind
him, watching the water with the eyes of a poacher.

This mild,