approached him with fear and trembling. I would have played for him, so that he might judge,—but no! He said 'No, no!' It was not necessary. Corinne's word was enough for him. You do not know Corinne. She is beautiful. She is an artiste! One day she will be on the lips of every one. Go! Be quick! The gentleman is departing. You will have lost a—a sale, and all through the fault of me. I beseech you,—catch him quick. Do not permit me to bring you bad luck. Au revoir! I go at once to acquaint M. Mirabeau with—au revoir!"
He dashed up the back stairway, leaving Mr. Bramble agape.
"It was only a ten-cent book," he muttered to the back of the departing customer. "And, besides, you do not belong to the union," he shouted loudly, addressing himself to de Bosky, who stopped short on the stairs.
"The union?"
"The union will not permit you to play," said the bookseller, mounting the steps. "It will permit you to starve but not to play."
"But the man—the man he said it was because I do not belong to the union that he engages me. He says the union holds him, up, what? So! He discharge the union—all of them. We form a new orchestra. Then we don't give a damn, he say. Not a tinkle damn! And Corinne say also not a tinkle damn! And I say not a tinkle damn! Voila!"
"God bless my soul," said Mr. Bramble, shaking his head.
M. Mirabeau rejoiced. He embraced the little mu-
