me the whole world, _I_ wouldn't have such big feet and such
a thick waist. And then, your regular features aren't one bit
attractive. Men like a face that says something."

When they left the tent, the sun was low and the dust hovered in
golden clouds over the throng of women, working-men, and soldiers.

It was time for dinner; but as they passed the monkey-cage, Madame
Ewans noticed such a crush of eager spectators squeezing in between
the baize curtains on the platform in front that she could not
resist the temptation to follow suit. Besides which, she was
drawn by a motive of curiosity, having been told that monkeys
were not insensible to female charms. But the performance diverted
her thoughts in another direction. She saw an unhappy poodle in
red breeches shot as a deserter in spite of his honest looks.
Tears rose to her eyes, she was so sensitive, so susceptible
to the glamour of the stage!

"Yes, it's quite true," she sobbed; "yes, poor soldiers have
been shot before now just for going off without leave to stand
by their mother's death-bed or for smacking a bullying officer's
face."

Some old refrain of Béranger she had heard working folks sing
in her plebeian childhood rose to her memory and intensified
her emotion. She told the children the lamentable tale of the
canine deserter's pitiful doom, and made them feel quite sad.

No sooner were they outside the place, however, than an itinerant
toy-seller with a paper helmet on his head set them splitting