And so to the westward they went.
CHAPTER XIV
THE FABIANI FAMILY
The walking was easier now. It was blither, too. Hermia's achievements in a musical way had given her confidence. If Madame Bordier's defunct niece had been the best Femme Orchestre in the Eure, there was no reason why Hermia shouldn't fit into her reputation as comfortably as she fitted into her post-humous garments. Clarissa, too, jogged along without her bridle, and Markham found little use for the goad he had whittled to save the use of the halter. The people on the road looked at them curiously, passed a rough jest, and sent them on the merrier. Markham had destroyed his road map and now they followed the patteran, leaving their destiny to fortune. In the late afternoon, on their way through a forest, Clarissa suddenly halted and, in spite of much urging, refused to go on. Hermia took the halter and Markham the goad, and after a while they moved slowly forward, the donkey still protesting. A scurrying in the underbrush, and several dogs appeared, barking furiously. Their offensiveness went no further than this, however, and in a moment Markham made out the bulk of a roulette in the shadows of the wood, the shaggy specter of a horse, a camp-fire, and a party of caravaners. There was a strip of carpet laid out near the fire upon which a small figure, clad only in an undershirt and a pair of faded red trunks, was busily engaged in wrapping its legs round the back of its neck. The cause of Clarissa's unhappiness was also apparent; for chained to a sapling nearby, rolling its great head foolishly from side to side, sat a tame bear.
There were greetings as the newcomers approached, the dogs were called off, and a burly man rose and came to the roadside to meet them.
"Bona jou," he said, smiling, his teeth milk white under his stringy black mustache. Markham returned the salutation. The caravaner glanced at Hermia's costume and swept off his hat.
"You go to Alençon for the fête?" he asked in very bad French.
Markham nodded. It was easier to nod than to explain just now. The big man smiled again and pointed to the fire with a gesture of invitation. After a glance at Hermia, in whose face he read affirmation, Markham assented, and urging the unwilling donkey, he and Hermia followed their host down the slope and into the glen.
The small figure on the carpet, which had not for one moment ceased its contortions, now consented to unwind its limbs and stand upright; and in this position assumed definite form as a slender slip of a girl, about twelve years of age. A man and a woman with a baby rose and greeted them. The introductions were formal. They had fallen, it seems, upon the tender mercies of the Fabiani Family of Famous Athletes. The big man tapped his huge chest.
"Moi!" he announced with pardonable pride. "I am Signor Cleofonte Fabiani, the world's greatest wrestler and strong man. Here," and he pointed to the others, "is Signor Luigi Fabiani, the world's greatest acrobat; there Signora Fabiani, world famous as a juggler and hand balancer; Signorina Stella Fabiani, the child wonder of the twentieth century."