"Whoever is that?" cried the woman's voice at the window.
The youth below faced round on the intruder. He was white in the face and had wanted to run, but mastered his voice and enquired gruffly--
"Who the devil are you?"
"I? I am an artist, and as such I salute madame and monsieur her son. She is greater artist than I, but I shall help her. They shall dance better this time, her harlequin and columbine. Why? Because they shall dance to my music--the music that I shall make here, on this spot, under the stars. _Tiens!_ I shall play as if possessed. I feel that. I bet you. It is because I have found an artist--an artist in Gantick. O-my-good-lor! It makes me expand!"
He had pulled off his greasy hat, and stood bowing and smiling, showing his white teeth and holding up his flageolet, that the woman might see and be convinced.
"That's all very well," said the boy; "but my mother doesn't want it known that she practises at these shadows."
"Ha? It is perhaps forbidden by law?"
