surname the Wizard of the Caucasus. _Me voici!_"

Carried away by the force of his own eloquence, the Chevalier fell into
an attitude at the conclusion of his little speech; but remembering
where he was, blushed, and bowed again.

"Pshaw," said my father impatiently, "the man's a conjuror."

The little Frenchman did not hear him. He was at that moment untying a
packet which he carried in his hat, the contents whereof appeared to
consist of a number of very small pink and yellow cards. Selecting a
couple of each color, he deposited his hat carefully upon the floor and
came a few steps nearer to the table.

"Monsieur will give me the hope to see him, with Monsieur _son fils_, at
my Soirée Fantastique, _n'est-ce pas?_" he asked, timidly.

"Sir," said my father shortly, "I never encourage peripatetic
mendicity."

The little Frenchman looked puzzled.

"_Comment_?" said he, and glanced to me for an explanation.

"I am very sorry, Monsieur," I interposed hastily; "but my father
objects to public entertainments."

"_Ah, mon Dieu!_ but not to this," cried the Chevalier, raising his
hands and eyes in deprecating astonishment. "Not to my Soirée
Fantastique! The art of legerdemain, Monsieur, is not immoral. He is