so, turning from his interlocutor, he briefly but kindly
recommended Leon to get back instanter to his concert.

"It is already growing late," he added.

Leon did not wait to be told twice. He returned to the Cafe of the
Triumphs of the Plough with all expedition. Alas! the audience had
melted away during his absence; Elvira was sitting in a very
disconsolate attitude on the guitar-box; she had watched the company
dispersing by twos and threes, and the prolonged spectacle had somewhat
overwhelmed her spirits. Each man, she reflected, retired with a certain
proportion of her earnings in his pocket, and she saw to-night's board
and to-morrow's railway expenses, and finally even to-morrow's dinner,
walk one after another out of the cafe-door and disappear into the
night.

"What was it?" she asked languidly.

But Leon did not answer. He was looking round him on the scene of
defeat. Scarce a score of listeners remained, and these of the least
promising sort. The minute-hand of the clock was already climbing upward
towards eleven.

"It's a lost battle," said he, and then taking up the money-box, he
turned it out. "Three francs seventy-five!" he cried, "as against four
of board and six of railway fares; and no time for the tombola! Elvira,
this is Waterloo!" And he sat down and passed both hands desperately
among his curls. "O fichu Commissaire!" he cried, "fichu Commissaire!"

"Let us get the things together and be off," returned Elvira. "We might
try another song, but there is not six halfpence in the room."

"Six halfpence?" cried Leon, "six hundred thousand devils! There is not
a human creature in the town--nothing but pigs and dogs and
commissaries! Pray heaven we get safe to bed."

"Don't imagine things!" exclaimed Elvira, with a shudder.

And with that they set to work on their preparations. The tobacco-jar,
the cigarette-holder, the three papers of shirt-studs, which were to
have been the prizes of the tombola had the tombola come off, were made
into a bundle with the music; the guitar was stowed into the fat
guitar-case; and Elvira having thrown a thin shawl about her neck and
shoulders, the pair issued from the cafe and set off for the Black Head.

As they crossed the market-place the church bell rang out eleven. It was
a dark, mild night, and there was no one in the streets.

"It is all very fine," said Leon: "but I have a presentiment. The night
is not yet done."

CHAPTER III

The Black Head