"But you can't walk in that."
"The orchestra is detachable, mon ami."
"It is incredible—"
"And I have engaged a creature to carry it—"
"Meaning—"
"Not you—behold."
Markham followed her symphonic gesture. Madame Bordier approached, leading a donkey from the stable-yard, a diminutive donkey of suspicious eye and protesting ears.
"She's very gentle," sighed the fairy godmother. "It hurts the heart to sell her. But as Monsieur knows—the times are not what they used to be." "She is adorable," cried Hermia. "Isn't she, John Markham?"
"She is," muttered Markham, caressing the stubble at his chin, "entirely so—a vagabond—I should say, every inch of her."
It was not until they had reached the Inn of Monsieur Duchanel some time later that Hermia, having divested herself of the orchestral adjuncts of her costume, confided to Markham the stroke of good fortune which had put her into possession of this providential accoutrement. She had confessed her predicament to Madame Bordier, who, after assuring herself that Hermia was not an escaping criminal, had entered with grace and even some avidity upon the bargain. Hermia wanted a blouse, skirt and hat somewhat worn. But in the act of searching in the garret of the wine-shop among the effects of a departed relative the great discovery had been made. As Madame Bordier went deeper and deeper into the recesses of the malle there was a tinkling sound and she emerged with the cap that Hermia wore and looked at it with sighs followed by tears. At the appearance of each article of apparel, Madame wept anew, and Hermia listened calmly while the "great idea" was slowing being born. It was the daughter of Madame Bordier's late sister—Pauvre fille—who had worn the costume. She was a Femme Orchestre of such skill that her name was known from one end of the Eure to another. She made money, too, bien sûr, but hélas! she married a vaurien acrobat who had taken her off to America, where she had died last year. Those clothes—bon Dieu!—they recalled the days of happiness; but if Mademoiselle desired them, she, Madame Bordier, could not stand in the way. Times were hard, as Mademoiselle knew, and if she would give two hundred francs—