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Updated: May 27, 2025
The wooden horses of the mange, upon which some children and a few soldiers from the garrison were riding, were already whirling on their mad career. While Yvonne played, Cleofonte and Philidor "barked."
He laid a log upon the fire, and made a place for her beside him. "It was very nice of you," he whispered. "To tell the truth, I wanted you." "Then I'm glad I came. I shall sleep here, by the fire, if you don't mind." "You're not afraid of the damp?" "I never take colds." She smiled at the prostrate Cleofonte, whose stertorous breathing shattered the silences.
Philidor was to keep the gate and between the performances was to make portraits of those who desired them. Their organization was perfection. Cleofonte was at his best when in the executive capacity.
When the conversation lagged, which it did when Cleofonte grew weary, Hermia brought forth her orchestre and played for them; first the tunes she had practiced and afterward, as she gained new confidence in their appreciation, "Santa Lucia" and "Funiculi, funicula," to which Cleofonte, who had a soul for concord, roared a fine basso.
He, Cleofonte, would have paid ten francs a performance anything to keep them there. Signora Fabiani moved silently about her tasks, but her eyes were deep with wisdom. What she was thinking, Philidor knew not, nor did Yvonne set the matter straight. It was necessary to go that was all. It was very sad and made Yvonne unhappy, but she had, unfortunately, no choice in the matter.
The receipts were four hundred sous twenty francs and there were to be six performances a day! Well might Cleofonte wring Philidor by the hand and pay him over the five francs which he and Hermia had earned! There were no portraits to do, so Philidor sat at the entrance with Yvonne until the time for the next performance. It was tiresome work and the breathing space was welcome enough.
"Do you know where we're going?" asked Hermia then. "No, I don't. I never know where I'm going. But I'm sure of one thing. We must make some money at once." "We'll follow Cleofonte to Alenon then," said Hermia resolutely. So Markham prodded the donkey and they moved forward at a brisker pace.
The Homme Sauvage was roaring again and the deep voice of Cleofonte, their late partner and companion, was heard at intervals in his familiar plaint. There was a fascination in the lights and in the medley of noises each of which had come to possess an interest and a personality for behind them were the pale road and the inhospitable darkness.
She pushed her cover away and sat up, all her senses acutely alive. The fire was out, but the air was not chill. She glanced at Markham's recumbent figure, at Cleofonte and Luigi, and then stealthily arose. Tomasso, the bear, who of all the vagabond company had alone kept vigil, eyed her whimsically from his small eyes and moved uneasily in his chains.
So the routlotte was backed into place and Cleofonte, his coat off, his brows beading, directed the erection of the canvas barrier within which the performances were to be given. For let it be understood the Fabianis were no common mountebanks for whom one passed a hat.
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