re too?" he asked, with a strong English accent.
"I'm not sorry for company."

Leon explained their misadventure; and the other told them that he was a
Cambridge undergraduate on a walking tour, that he had run short of
money, could no longer pay for his night's lodging, had already been
camping out for two nights, and feared he should require to continue the
same manoeuvre for at least two nights more.

"Luckily, it's jolly weather," he concluded.

"You hear that, Elvira," said Leon.--"Madame Berthelini," he went on,
"is ridiculously affected by this trifling occurrence. For my part, I
find it romantic and far from uncomfortable; or at least," he added,
shifting on the stone bench, "not quite so uncomfortable as might have
been expected. But pray be seated."

"Yes," returned the undergraduate, sitting down, "it's rather nice than
otherwise when once you're used to it; only it's devilish difficult to
get washed. I like the fresh air and these stars and things."

"Aha!" said Leon, "Monsieur is an artist."

"An artist?" returned the other, with a blank stare. "Not if I know it!"

"Pardon me," said the actor. "What you said this moment about the orbs
of heaven--"

"Oh, nonsense!" cried the Englishman. "A fellow may admire the stars and
be anything he likes."

"You have an artist's nature, however, Mr. ---- I beg your pardon; may
I, without indiscretion, inquire your name?" asked Leon.

"My name is Stubbs," replied the Englishman.

"I thank you," returned Leon. "Mine is Berthelini--Leon Berthelini,
ex-artist of the theatres of Montrouge, Belleville, and Montmartre.
Humble as you see me, I have created with applause more than one
important _role_. The Press were unanimous in praise of my Howling Devil
of the Mountains, in the piece of the same name. Madame, whom I now
present to you, is herself an artist, and I must not omit to state, a
better artist than her husband. She also is a creator; she created
nearly twenty successful songs at one of the principal Parisian
music-halls. But to continue: I was saying you had an artist's nature,
Monsieur Stubbs, and you must permit me to be a judge in such a
question. I trust you will not falsify your instincts; let me beseech
you to follow the career of an artist."

"Thank you," returned Stubbs, with a chuckle. "I'm going to be a
banker."

"No," said Leon, "do not say so. Not that. A man with such a nature as
yours should not derogate so far. What are a few privations