"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 here and there, so long as you are working for a high
and noble goal?"
"This fellow's mad," thought Stubbs; "but the woman's rather
pretty, and he's not bad fun himself, if you come to that." What
he said was different. "I thought you said you were an actor?"
"I certainly did so," replied Leon. "I am one, or, alas! I was.
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