Although the man spoke with a pronounced foreign accent, his English was fluent, and he rarely seemed at a loss for a word to express his meaning.
"Poor child!" said Mrs. Brooke. "This is a hard life to bring him up to. Surely some other way might be found"---- Then she paused.
The mountebank's white teeth showed themselves in a smile. "Ah no, madame; pardon, but it is not a hard life by no means. Henri likes it, and I like it. In the winter we join some cirque, and then Henri has lessons every day. He is clevare, very clevare--everybody say so. One day Henri will be a great artiste. The world--tout le monde--will hear of him. It is I who say it--moi." He touched his chest proudly with the tips of his fingers as he ceased speaking. "Would mesdames like to behold?"---- he said a moment later as he brought his drum into position and raised the pipes to his lips.
"Thank you, monsieur; not to-day," answered Clara gravely as she stepped back into the room and rang the bell.
Monsieur looked disappointed. Henri, however, looked anything but disappointed when, two minutes later, the beautiful lady, from whose face he could scarcely take his eyes, heaped his little hands with cakes and fruit till they could hold no more.
"Tell me your name, my pretty one," said Mrs. Brooke, as she stooped and helped him to secure his treasures.
"Henri Picot, madame."
"And have you any pockets, Henri?"
"Oui, madame."
A pocket was duly indicated, and into its recesses a certain coin of the realm presently found its way.