“Help! Help!” Poufaille sputtered, ready to faint.
“What are you afraid of?” said Perbaccho, the master of the show. “Don’t you see that it is only Suzanne playing tricks on you?”
“Oh, it’s all right, then!” Poufaille said, recovering his assurance. “She’s been playing me all sorts of tricks lately—not counting the strokes of the broomstick!”
In fact, Suzanne had brought out her whole repertory of practical jokes—liquids that flame up, powder which, thrown into a ragout, crawls about in the shape of a worm, pasteboard mice that run across the table, papier-mâché fruits and cheeses, and paste sweetmeats. The lunch was one long burst of laughter.
When the dessert came Perbaccho, the master, arose, glass in hand.
“To the health of Monsieur Phil!” he said.
“Here’s to his health!” repeated the guests around the jumping-board.
“Vive Monsieur Phil!” said the children, who were sitting farther on, at a little table with spangled velvet fringe, on which, during his performances, the juggler placed his balls and knives. Sœurette was there; Helia had brought her, although she was too great an artiste to show herself at Perbaccho’s circus. She had come to the country to be near Suzanne and to rest.
“Dear friends,” Perbaccho went on, in the same voice with which he announced his Grrrand Representations, “the time has come to thank Monsieur Phil for the great and numerous services which he has rendered us. [Applause.] Now that Monsieur Phil is going to leave us, we do not wish to let him depart without saying to him—hum, hum—how grateful we are for his having been willing to put his talents at our disposition. [“Bravo!”] Hum, hum—although Monsieur Phil has not yet set up for himself in the fairs, nevertheless he is a real artiste; and the delighted public looks with great pleasure—I will even say with enchantment—at the portrait which decorates our platform and represents Mademoiselle Suzanne of the O’Poufaille Family!”
“Vive la joie!” Suzanne began.