But courage, _mon cher_ Bastien! I will come and see you
ch-chk, ch-chk!"--he elongated and twisted his neck, at
the same time turning his eyes upwards in a horrible
fashion--"while your feet go so ... so,"--he described
a species of _pas-seul_ with his toes. "Is that not so,
Antoine? Eh?--you beauty, you?" and here he gave the
great bear, that had been gravely sitting on its haunches
watching him like an attendant spirit, a sudden and
affectionate kick.

To Dorothy's horror the great brute made a quick snap at
him, which, however, only served to intensely amuse Pepin,
for he skilfully evaded it, and, seizing his stick, at
once began to dance up and down. The cunning little black
eyes of the beast watched him apprehensively and
resentfully.

"Aha, Antoine!" he cried. "Git up, you lazy one, and
dance! Houp-la!"--the huge brute stood up on its hind
legs--"Now, then, Bastien, pick up that fiddle and play.
That's it, piff-poum--piff-poum! Houp-la! piff-poum!"
and in another minute the man and the bear were dancing
opposite each other. It was a weird and uncanny sight,
the grotesque dwarf, with his face flushed and his hair
on end, capering about and kicking with his pigmy legs,
and the bear with uncouth waddles waltzing round and
round, its movements every now and again being accelerated
by a judicious dig in the ribs from Pepin's stick.
Bastien Lagrange fiddled away as if for dear life, and
the old dame, her face beaming with pride and admiration,