that he was no longer sick. We know very well that if we
took him out it would be his death.

It was time for us to start. Before going, I made up a good fire and
wrapped Pretty-Heart up in his coverlets. He cried again and embraced
me as much as he could, then we started.

As we tramped through the snow, my master told me what he expected of
me. We could not, of course, give our usual repertoire, as our principal
actors were missing, but Capi and I could vie with each other in doing
our best. We had to collect forty francs! Forty francs! It was terrible!
Impossible!

Vitalis had prepared everything. All we had to do now was to light the
candles, but this was an extravagance that we could not indulge in until
the room was filled, for our illuminations would not have to come to an
end before our entertainment.

Whilst we took possession of our theater, the town crier, with his drum,
came through the village streets for the last time. After I had dressed
Capi and myself, I went outside and stood behind a pillar to watch the
people arrive.

The roll of the drum became louder. It was approaching the market place
and I could hear a babble of voices. Behind the drum came a score of
youngsters, all keeping step. Without stopping the beating of his drum,
the town crier took up his place between the two large lamps that were
lit at the entrance of our theater. The public had only to walk in and
take their seats for the performance to commence.

Alas! how long they were coming, and yet the drum at the door continued
gayly its _rat ta ta ta_. All the boys in the village must have been
there. But it was not the youngsters who were likely to give us forty
francs. There would have to be some important people, open-handed and
generous.

At last Vitalis decided that we ought to commence, although the hall was
far from being full; but we could not wait longer, worried as we were by
the terrible question of candles.

I had to appear first and sing a few songs, accompanying myself on the
harp. I must confess the applause that I received was very weak. I had
never thought very much of myself as an entertainer, but the marked
coolness with which the audience received my efforts discouraged me. If
I did not please them they would certainly not give us anything. It was
not for the glory that I was singing; it was for poor Pretty-Heart. Ah,
how I wanted to stir this public, to make them enthusiastic.... But I
could see only too well