"What is there good at the theatres, André?"
André wiped his hands in his soiled apron, and looked thoughtful.
"There's the Folies Bergères, monsieur. Dumont sings to-night."
"Oh, she tires me. Her voice is cracked."
"There's Madame Judic at the Variétés," André suggested, tentatively.
"I saw her in the last piece."
André scratched his head, and stared at the figure at the table.
"Monsieur likes the Cirque, does he not?"
Monsieur did not look up from the paper. "What's at the Cirque now, André?"
"At the Cirque Parisien? There's Mademoiselle Blanche, the acrobat. They say she's a marvel, monsieur,—and beautiful,—the most beautiful woman in Paris. She dives from the top of the building backwards—hundreds of feet."