and her latest song, Bonjour Coco, is sung and whistled in every
capital of Europe; so the jury, thrusting aside as mere pedantry
the evidence of facts, set to work to find some verdict which would
not eclipse the gaiety of La Ville Lumiere by cutting short the
career of Mademoiselle Sidonie. The art of the chef appealed to
only a few, and he dies a mute, but by no means inglorious martyr:
the art of the chanteuse appeals to the million, the voice of the
many carries the day, and Narcisse must die."

"It is a revolting story," said Mrs. Gradinger, "and one possible
only in a corrupted and corrupting society. It is wonderful, as
Sir John remarks, how the conquering streams of tendency manifest
themselves even in an affair like this. Ours is a democratic age,
and the wants and desires of the many, who find delight in this
woman's singing, override the whims of the pampered few, the
employers of such costly luxuries as men cooks."

"You see you are a mere worm, Sir John," laughed Miss Macdonnell,
"and you had better lay out your length to be trampled on."

"Yes, I have long foreseen our fate, we who happen to possess what
our poor brother hankers after. Well, perhaps I may take up the
worm's role at once and 'turn', that is, burn the recipe of
Narcisse."

"O Sir John, Sir John," cried Mrs. Sinclair "any such burning would
remind me irresistibly of Mr. Mantalini's attempts at suicide.
There would be an accurate copy in your pocket-book, and besides
this you would probably have learnt off the recipe by heart."