scarlet cap, stood immediately within the entrance, and ostentatiously
rattled a money box at regular intervals.

"For the starving poor of Paris," he drawled out in nasal monotonous
tones the moment he caught sight of Marguerite and of her rich
gown. She dropped some gold into the box and then passed on.

The interior of the booth was dark and lonely-looking after the glare
of the hot September sun and the noisy crowd that thronged the
sward outside. Evidently a performance had just taken place on the
elevated platform beyond, for a few yokels seemed to be lingering in
a desultory manner as if preparatory to going out.

A few disjointed comments reached Marguerite's ears as she
approached, and the small groups parted to allow her to pass. One or
two women gaped in astonishment at her beautiful dress, whilst
others bobbed a respectful curtsey.

The mechanical toy arrester her attention immediately. She did not
find it as gruesome as she expected, only singularly grotesque, with
all those wooden little figures in their quaint, arrested action.

She drew nearer to have a better look, and the yokels who had
lingered behind, paused, wondering if she would make any remark.

"Her ladyship was born in France," murmured one of the men, close
to her, "she would know if the thing really looks like that."

"She do seem interested," quoth another in a whisper.