"He is like Madame Benoiton," thought Leon, "Fichu Commissaire!"
And just then he met the man face to face.
"Here, sir," said he, "are my papers. Will you be pleased to
verify?"
But the Commissary was now intent upon dinner.
"No use," he replied, "no use; I am busy; I am quite satisfied.
Give your entertainment."
And he hurried on.
"Fichu Commissaire!" thought Leon.
CHAPTER II
The audience was pretty large; and the proprietor of the cafe made
a good thing of it in beer. But the Berthelinis exerted themselves
in vain.
Leon was radiant in velveteen; he had a rakish way of smoking a
cigarette between his songs that was worth money in itself; he
underlined his comic points, so that the dullest numskull in
Castel-le-Gachis had a notion when to laugh; and he handled his
guitar in a manner worthy of himself. Indeed his play with that
instrument was as good as a whole romantic drama; it was so
dashing, so florid, and so cavalier.
Elvira, on the other hand, sang her patriotic and romantic songs
with more than usual expression; her voice had charm and plangency;
and as Leon looked at her, in her low-bodied maroon dress, with her
arms bare to the shoulder, and a red flower set provocatively in
her corset, he repeated to himself for the many hundredth time that
she was one of the loveliest creatures in the world of women.
Alas! when she went round with the tambourine, the golden youth of
Castel-le-Gachis turned from her coldly.
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