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
commissaires! Pray heaven, we get safe to bed.
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