“Couleur de rose?” laughed Madame.
We went in a body to the marionettes, and Madame screamed as we climbed the inclined plane to enter, and scrambled down the frail scaffolding to the “reserved seats.” These cost twopence a head, and were “reserved” for us alone. The dolls were really cleverly managed. They performed the closing scenes of a pantomime. The policeman came to pieces when clown and harlequin pulled at him. People threw their heads at each other, and shook their arms off. The transformation scene was really pretty, and it only added to the joke that the dirty old proprietor burned the red light under our very noses, amid a storm of chaff from Jack.
From the marionettes we went to the fat woman. A loathsome sight, which turned me sick; but, for some inexplicable reason, seemed highly to gratify Madame. She and Jack came out in fits of laughter, and he said, “Now for the two-headed monstrosity. It’ll just suit you, Madame!”
At the door, Madame paused. “Mais, ce n’est pas pour des petites filles,” she said, glancing at Eleanor and me.
“Feel?” said Jack, who was struggling through the crowd, which was dense here. “It feels nothing. It’s in a bottle. Come along!”
“All right, Madame,” said Eleanor, smiling. “We’ll wait for you outside.”
We next proceeded to the photographer’s, where Jack and Madame were photographed together with Pincher.
By Madame’s desire she was now led to the “bazaar,” where she bought a collar for Pincher, two charming china boxes, in the shape of dogs’ heads, for Eleanor and her mother, a fan for me, a walking-stick for Monsieur le Pasteur, and some fishing-floats for Clement. By this time some children had gathered round us. The children of the district were especially handsome, and Madame was much smitten by their rosy cheeks and many-shaded flaxen hair.
“Ah!” she sighed, “I must make some little presents to the children;” and she looked anxiously over the stalls.
“Violin, one and six,” said the saleswoman. “Nice work-box for a little girl, half-a-crown.”