The political argument of his neighbors drew to an end with the end of their beer and they passed him on their way to the gate, each with a friendly glance and a "Bon soir, Monsieur"—which Markham returned in kind. After that it was very quiet and restful under the trees. Markham was not a man to borrow trouble and preferred to reach his bridges before he crossed them, and so whatever the elements Hermia was to inject into the even tenor of his holiday, Markham awaited them tranquilly, though not without a certain mild curiosity as to what was to happen next.
But he was not destined to remain long in doubt; for in a few minutes he hears Hermia's light laugh in the door of the wine-shop, followed by the beating of a drum, the ringing of bells, the crashing of cymbals, the notes of some other instrument sounding discordantly between whiles. And as he started to his feet, wondering what it could be all about, a blonde head stuck out past the edge of the door and peered around at the deserted cabaret. He had hardly succeeded in identifying the head as Hermia's because it wore a scarlet cap embroidered with small bells which explained the bedlam of tinkling. When the rest of her body emerged upon the scene Markham noted that Hermia's transformation was in other respects complete; for she wore a zouave jacket of red, a white blouse and a blue skirt. Upon her back was a round object which upon close inspection turned out to be a drum, the sticks of which were fastened to her elbows, and attached to her neck was a harmonica, so placed that she had only to bend her head forward to reach it with her lips. In her right hand was a mandolin which she waved at him triumphantly as she reached him with a grand crash, squeak, tinkle and thump of all the instruments at once.
Too amazed to speak, Markham stood grinning at her foolishly!
"Well?" she said, throwing her head and elbows back, provoking an unintentional thump and tinkle. "How do you like me?"
"Immensely! But what does it all mean?"
"Foolish man. Mean! It means that Yvonne Deschamps has found a fairy godmother who has transformed her. She has now become a Femme Orchestre and for two sous will discourse sweet music to the rustic ear—mandolin and mouth organ, bells, cymbals and drum—"
She ignored the protest of his upraised hand and again made the air hideous with sound, ending it all with a laugh that made the bells in her cap tinkle merrily.
"Oh, I don't do it very well yet. It's the first time—but you shall see—"
"Do you mean that you're going to wear that harness?"
"I do."