ke
down and cried, and there were some hisses for him, as well as kind and
encouraging applause for the child. Then up jumps Barty and gets on the
platform and takes the signore's guitar and twangs it, and smiles all
round benignly--immense applause!

Then he pats Marianina's thin pale cheek and wipes her eyes and
gives her a kiss. Frantic applause! Then "Fleur des Alpes!"

Ovation! encore! bis! ter!

And for a third encore he sings a very pretty little Flemish ballad
about the rose without a thorn--"Het Roosje uit de Dorne." It is the
only Flemish song he knows, and I hope I have spelt it right! And
the audience goes quite crazy with enthusiasm, and everybody goes
home happy, even the Veroneses--and Marianina does not get filliped
that night.

After this the Veroneses tried humbler spheres for the display of
their talents, and in less than a week exhausted every pothouse and
beer-tavern and low drinking-shop in Blankenberghe! and at last they
took to performing for casual coppers in the open street, and went
very rapidly down hill. The signore lost his jauntiness and grew
sordid and soiled and shabby and humble; the signora looked like a
sulky, dirty, draggle-tailed fury, ready to break out into violence
on the slightest provocation; poor Marianina got paler and thinner,
and Barty was very unhappy about her. The only things left rosy
about her were her bruised nose, and her fingers, that always seemed
stiff with cold; indeed, they were blue rather than rosy--and
anything but clean.

One evening he bought her a little warm gray cloak that took his
fancy; when he went home after dinner to give it her he found the
three birds of song had taken flight--sans tambour ni trompette, and
leaving no message for him. The baker-landlord had turned them
adrift--sent them about their business, sacrificing some of his rent
to get rid of them; not a heavy loss, I fancy.

Barty went after them all over the little town, but did not find
them; he heard they were last seen marching off with guitar and
fiddle in a southerly direction along the coast, and found that
their luggage was to be sent to Ostend.

He felt very sorry for Marianina and missed her--and gave the cloak
to some poor child in the town, and was very lonely.

One morning as he loafed about dejectedly with his hands in his
pockets, he found his way to the little Hotel de Ville, whence
issued sounds of music. He went in. It was like a kind of
reading-room and conc