“Oh, eh!” said the student. “That is funny. And why?”
“It feeds on the leavings of my lord the rook,” said Ned.
The farmer chuckled heartily, and the musician burst into a wobble of laughter.
“I am the rook!” he cried—“I am milord the rook! You are a man of penetration, monsieur, and I take you to my heart.”
He endeavoured to do so literally, and fell flat off the table on the top of his guitar, which he smashed to pieces. And then he composed himself to slumber on the floor, and in a minute was snoring.
“He acts up to his creed,” said the farmer, in a tone of unruffled admiration. “You must not misjudge him, monsieur the artist. M. de St Denys is generous to a fault.”
“St Denys! Is that M. de St Denys?”
The other swang his large head.
“It is so. His reputation extends itself, it would appear. He makes himself a name beyond Méricourt for the most liberal principles.”
“Liberal to excess, indeed.”