mous _tour du pistolet;_ it is I, that have originate the great
and surprising deception of the bottle; it is I whom the world does
surname the Wizard of the Caucasus. _Me voici!_"

Carried away by the force of his own eloquence, the Chevalier fell into
an attitude at the conclusion of his little speech; but remembering
where he was, blushed, and bowed again.

"Pshaw," said my father impatiently, "the man's a conjuror."

The little Frenchman did not hear him. He was at that moment untying a
packet which he carried in his hat, the contents whereof appeared to
consist of a number of very small pink and yellow cards. Selecting a
couple of each color, he deposited his hat carefully upon the floor and
came a few steps nearer to the table.

"Monsieur will give me the hope to see him, with Monsieur _son fils_, at
my Soiree Fantastique, _n'est-ce pas?_" he asked, timidly.

"Sir," said my father shortly, "I never encourage peripatetic
mendicity."

The little Frenchman looked puzzled.

"_Comment_?" said he, and glanced to me for an explanation.

"I am very sorry, Monsieur," I interposed hastily; "but my father
objects to public entertainments."

"_Ah, mon Dieu!_ but not to this," cried the Chevalier, raising his
hands and eyes in deprecating astonishment. "Not to my Soiree
Fantastique! The art of legerdemain, Monsieur, is not immoral. He is
graceful--he is surprising--he is innocent; and, Monsieur, he is
patronized by the Church; he is patronized by your amiable _Cure_,
Monsieur le Docteur Brand."

"Oh, father," I exclaimed, "Dr. Brand has taken tickets!"

"And pray, sir, what's that to me?" growled my father, without looking
up from the book which he had ungraciously resumed. "Let Dr. Brand make
a fool of himself, if he pleases. I'm not bound to do the same."

The Chevalier blushed crimson--not with humility this time, but with
pride. He gathered the cards into his pocket, took up his hat, and
saying stiffly--"_Monsieur, je vous demande pardon._"--moved towards
the door.

On the threshold he paused, and turning towards me with an air of faded
dignity:--"Young gentleman," he said, "_you_ I thank for your
politeness."

He seemed as if he would have said more--hesitated--became suddenly
livid--put his hand to his head, and leaned for support against
the wall.

My father was up and beside him in an instant. We carried rather than
led him to the sofa, untied his cravat, and administered the necessary
restoratives.