indecent than the furtive glances of young girls that have been well
brought up. There was something indescribably infectious about the
rough, homely enjoyment in all countenances.

But neither the faces, nor the wedding, nor the wedding-guests have
anything to do with my story. Simply bear them in mind as the odd
setting to it. Try to realize the scene, the shabby red-painted
wineshop, the smell of wine, the yells of merriment; try to feel that
you are really in the faubourg, among old people, working men and poor
women giving themselves up to a night's enjoyment.

The band consisted of a fiddle, a clarionet, and a flageolet from the
Blind Asylum. The three were paid seven francs in a lump sum for the
night. For the money, they gave us, not Beethoven certainly, nor yet
Rossini; they played as they had the will and the skill; and every one
in the room (with charming delicacy of feeling) refrained from finding
fault. The music made such a brutal assault on the drum of my ear,
that after a first glance round the room my eyes fell at once upon the
blind trio, and the sight of their uniform inclined me from the first
to indulgence. As the artists stood in a window recess, it was
difficult to distinguish their faces except at close quarters, and I
kept away at first; but when I came nearer (I hardly know why) I
thought of nothing else; the wedding party and the music ceased to
exist, my curiosity was roused to the highest pitch, for my soul
passed into the body of the clarionet player.

The fiddle and the flageolet were neither of them interesting; their
faces were of the ordinary type among the blind--earnest, attentive,
and grave. Not so the clarionet player; any artist or philosopher must
have come to a stop at the sight of him.