"My little Elodie," said he, as they walked along the battlemented city walls towards the great gate, "have courage. Come to the Palace to-night. I will arrange that you shall have a loge. You only have to ask for it. And after my turn, you shall meet me, as long ago, at the Café des Négociants, and we shall sup together and talk of your affairs."
She meekly consented. And when they parted at the entrance to the Hôtel d'Europe, he said:
"If I do not ask you to dine, it is because I have to think and work. You understand? But in your pocket you will find de quoi bien dîner. Au revoir, chère amie."
He put out his hand. She held it, while her eyes, tragically large and dark, searched his with painful intensity.
"Tell me," she said, "is it better that I should come and see you to-night or that I should throw myself over the bridge into the Rhone?"
"If you meet me to-night," said Andrew, "you will still be alive, which, after all, is a very good thing."
"Je viendrai," said Elodie.
"The devil!" said Andrew, entering the courtyard of the hotel, and wiping a perspiring brow, "here am I faced with a pretty responsibility!"
Experience enabled him to give a satisfactory performance; and his manager prepared his path by announcing the unhappy end of Prépimpin and craving the indulgence of the audience. But Andrew passed a heartbroken hour at the music-hall. In his dressing-room were neatly stored the dog's wardrobe and properties--the gay ribbons, the harness, the little yellow silk hat which he wore with such a swaggering air, the little basket carried over his front paw into which he would sweep various objects when his master's back was turned, the drinking dish labelled "Dog" ... He suffered almost a human bereavement. And then, the audience, for this night, was kind. But, as conscientious artist, he was sensitively aware of makeshift. A great element of his success lay in the fact that he had trained the dog to appear the more clever of the two, to score off his pretended clumsiness and to complete his tricks. For years he had left uncultivated the art of being funny by himself. Without Prépimpin he felt lost, like a man in a sculling race with only one oar. He took off his make-up and dressed, a very much worried man. Of course he could obtain another trained dog without much difficulty, and the special training would not take long; but he would have to love the animal in order to establish that perfect partnership which was essential to his performance. And how could he love any other dog than Prépimpin? He felt that he would hate the well-meaning but pretentious hound. He went out filled with anxieties and repugnances.
Elodie was waiting for him by the stage door. She said: