Gaston went to his apartments, and cheerily summoned Jacques.

"Now, little man, for a holiday! The menagerie: lions, leopards, and a
grand dompteuse; and afterwards dinner with me at the Cafe Blanche. I
want a blow-out of lions and that sort. I'd like to be a lion-tamer
myself for a month, or as long as might be."

He caught Jacques by the shoulders--he had not done so since that
memorable day at Ridley Court. "See, Jacques, we'll do this every year.
Six months in England, and three months on the Continent,--in your
France, if you like,--and three months in the out-of-the-wayest place,
where there'll be big game. Hidalgos for six months, Goths for the
rest."

A half-hour later they were in the menagerie. They sat near the
doors where the performers entered. For a long time they watched the
performance with delight, clapping and calling bravo like boys.
Presently the famous dompteuse entered,--Mademoiselle Victorine,--passing
just below Gaston. He looked down, interested, at the supple, lithe
creature making for the cages of lions in the amphitheatre. The figure
struck him as familiar. Presently the girl turned, throwing a glance
round the theatre. He caught the dash of the dark, piercing eyes, the
luminous look, the face unpainted--in its own natural colour: neither hot
health nor paleness, but a thing to bear the light of day. "Andree the
gipsy!" he exclaimed in a low tone.

In less than two years this! Here was fame. A wanderer, an Ishmael
then, her handful of household goods and her father in the grasp of the
Law: to-day, Mademoiselle Victorine, queen of animal-tamers! And her
name associated with the Comte Ploare!