e tail-end of the jolly marching procession, and
then it had been ripped out of their feeble hands. But the procession
went on. It was always there, round the corner, with its music and
fluttering lights, and if one was infirm of purpose like Cosgrave, or
like a certain James Stonehouse, one ran to meet it, flung oneself into
it, not counting the cost, lying and stealing.

He heard her voice again and pressed his hands to his hot eyes like a
man struggling back out of a deep sleep.

"Where are they all now? _Dieu sait_. Monsieur Georges 'e die. As
for me I go 'ome to ze old Folies Bergeres, and for six months I
wait--a leetle ugly nobody with long thin legs dancing with ten other
ugly leetle nobodies with all sorts of legs be'ind La Jolleta. You
don't remember 'er, '_hein_! Ah, _c'est vieux jeu ca_ and you are all
too young, _Mesdames et Messieurs_. She was ze passion of your
grandpapas. God knows why. Why do you all love me, _hein_? _Une
Mystere_. Well, she was ver' old then, but she 'ave ze good 'ealth and
ze thick skin of ze rhinoceros. And some'ow no one 'ave ze 'eart to
tell 'er. It become a sort of joke--'ow long she keep going--ze
Boulevards make bets about it. But for me it is no joke. I am in a
'urry, _moi_, and I know I can do better than she did ever--I 'ave
something--'ere--'ere--that she never 'ave. And so one night I put a
leetle pinch of something that a good friend of mine give me in La
Jolleta's champagne what she drink before she dance, and when ze
call-boy come she lie there on ze sofa--'er mouth open--_comme
ca_--snoring--like a pink elephant asleep--'ow you say--squiffy--dead
to ze world. Ze manager 'e tear 'is 'air out, and then I come and show
'im and 'e let me go on instead because there is no one else. And the
people boo and shriek at me, they are so angry and I make ze long nose
at them all--and presently they laugh and laugh."

They could see her. It wouldn't have seemed even impudent. Even then
she had been too sure of herself.

"And when I come off ze manager kiss me on both cheeks. _Et c'etait
fait_."

They applauded joyously. Her brutal egotism was a good joke. They
expected nothing else from her. She was like an animal whose cruelty
and cunning one could observe without moral qualms.

"It was a mean thing to have done," Stonehouse said loudly and
truculently--"a treacherous thing."

A shadow was on Cosgrave's face. He leant towards her, almost pleading.