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"Armand Proudhine le Chevalier Armand Proudhine, at your service." Mary disappeared with her apron to her mouth, and subsided into distant peals of laughter, leaving the Chevalier standing in the doorway. He was a very little man, with a pinched and melancholy countenance, and an eye as wistful as a dog's.
"I shall be happy to do so," I said aloud, and made my way round to the front of the platform. At the moment when he took it from me, I spoke to him. "Monsieur Proudhine," I whispered, "you are ill! What can I do for you?" "Nothing, mon enfant," he answered, in the same low tone. "I suffer; mais il faut se résigner." "Break off the performance retire for half an hour." "Impossible.
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