s twig.
Hither, after vainly knocking at an inn or two, the Berthelinis came at
length to pass the night. After an amiable contention, Leon insisted on
giving his coat to Elvira, and they sat down together on the first bench
in silence. Leon made a cigarette, which he smoked to an end, looking
up into the trees, and beyond them at the constellations, of which he
tried vainly to recall the names. The silence was broken by the church
bell; it rang the four quarters on a light and tinkling measure; then
followed a single deep stroke that died slowly away with a thrill; and
stillness resumed its empire.

"One," said Leon. "Four hours till daylight. It is warm; it is starry; I
have matches and tobacco. Do not let us exaggerate, Elvira--the
experience is positively charming. I feel a glow within me; I am born
again. This is the poetry of life. Think of Cooper's novels, my dear."

"Leon," she said fiercely, "how can you talk such wicked, infamous
nonsense? To pass all night out of doors--it is like a nightmare! We
shall die!"

"You suffer yourself to be led away," he replied soothingly. "It is not
unpleasant here; only you brood. Come, now, let us repeat a scene. Shall
we try Alceste and Celimene? No? Or a passage from the _Two Orphans_?
Come, now, it will occupy your mind; I will play up to you as I never
have played before; I feel art moving in my bones."

"Hold your tongue," she cried, "or you will drive me mad! Will nothing
solemnise you--not even this hideous situation?"

"Oh, hideous!" objected Leon. "Hideous is not the word. Why, where would
you be? '_Dites, la jeune belle, ou voulez-vous aller?_'" he carolled.
"Well, now," he went on, opening the guitar-case, "there's another idea
for you--sing. Sing '_Dites, la jeune belle_'! It will compose your
spirits, Elvira, I am sure."

And without waiting an answer he began to strum the symphony. The first
chords awoke a young man who was lying asleep upon a neighbouring bench.

"Hullo!" cried the young man, "who are you?"

"Under which king, Bezonian?" declaimed the artist. "Speak or die!"

Or if it was not exactly that, it was something to much the same purpose
from a French tragedy.

The young man drew near in the twilight. He was a tall, powerful,
gentlemanly fellow, with a somewhat puffy face, dressed in a grey tweed
suit, with a deer-stalker hat of the same material; and as he now came
forward he carried a knapsack slung upon one arm.

"Are you camping out he