Madame PradÈre, the Mayor's wife, regarded Nadine with deep interest. Although she had much to occupy her time and thoughts that morning, the situation the young girl had so simply disclosed was so unusual as to command her attention to the exclusion of other concerns.

Nadine seemed no less modest and refined than she was pretty, and her big blue eyes, which contrasted strangely with her black and curly hair, bore so sweet an expression that she must manifestly be something altogether different from the strolling players with their bold hard looks, rough voices, and shabby finery, which were wont to come to the village. Dressed plainly in a black calico gown, and having a thin black shawl over her head, she certainly had every appearance of simplicity and honesty. She was undoubtedly poor, but her poverty was of that proud kind which does not seek to inspire pity, but bravely fends for itself, asking alms of nobody.

"My child," said Madame PradÈre, in a tone so full of kindness that Nadine's heart grew warm, and she felt that the way out of her difficulties was beginning to open, "the Mayor has not returned, and may not be back for a while yet; but however busy he may be he shall spare you a minute, and if he thinks it all right he'll grant you the permission you seek. Come with me," she added signing to Nadine to follow her. "You can wait for him in another room, for the kitchen is in confusion, and you may be in the way of the servants, who have a great deal to do."

Nadine followed Madame PradÈre into a little parlor tastefully furnished, where there were ever so many pretty things that called forth her admiration.

But she had too much sense to betray any indiscreet curiosity. Seating herself upon the chair the mistress of the house indicated, she made haste to express her gratitude.

"You are very kind, Madame, very kind indeed," she murmured.

"Not at all, my child, not at all," was the response. "But now tell me, you seek permission from the Mayor to stay here a while in order to sell some little articles I presume?"

"No, Madame. We have nothing to sell," replied Nadine, gaining courage from the good lady's gentle manner. "We are only strolling performers who give public representations with our animals."

"Oh! ho! you have animals! Trained dogs, I suppose, and that sort of thing," and Madame's comely countenance expressed an amused interest.

"We have only one dog, Vigilant, who is very comical. He knows how to make the most morose people laugh when he plays his part with Nalla." Nadine's eyes brightened at the thought of her dog.

"Nalla! and pray who is Nalla?"

"Madame," answered Nadine, her face growing serious again, "Nalla is our breadwinner. He is the chief attraction of our troupe, for you can easily understand that such mere children as we are daren't pretend to be of much account as performers. In us by ourselves the public would take very little interest, and we couldn't get along at all. But when we exhibit Nalla in all the streets, and make our announcements from his back, curiosity is aroused, and the people come in the evening to see our big creature's performance."

"What do you mean?" exclaimed Madame PradÈre, looking puzzled. "Your big creature! Is not Nalla, then, a dog like Vigilant?"

"Oh, no," cried Nadine, smiling, and fully appreciating the interest she was creating. "Nalla isn't a dog. Nalla couldn't get into this big house, Nalla"—and she paused a moment so as to emphasize the announcement, "Nalla is an elephant!"

"An elephant, do you say? Is it possible? How do you happen to own so costly an animal? Why, it must be worth a small fortune!" And as she poured out these questions Madame PradÈre scrutinized the girl with a certain air of perplexity, for to her the idea of possessing an elephant seemed hardly consistent with actual poverty.

Nadine understood the look, and her pale cheek flushed slightly.

"I told you, Madame, Nalla is our breadwinner," she said with a touch of apology in her tone. "But he is also more than that. He is our protector since our father died."

Madame PradÈre's expression at once changed to one of sympathy.

"Is it long since you lost your parents?" she asked, adding with a kindly smile: "I may seem to be very inquisitive, but the fact is you interest me deeply, and I would like you to tell me your history. In the first place, what is your name?"

"Here are my papers, Madame," responded Nadine, holding out an old portfolio carefully wrapped up in a bit of silk. "They will tell you all about me."

"Oh no," said the Mayoress, gently pushing back the portfolio. "You can show that presently to my husband, but for myself I prefer to hear your story from your own lips."

Thus encouraged Nadine proceeded in her own clear simple way.

"My name is Nadine Tamby. My elder brother bears the same name as was my father's, CÆsar. The second boy is named Abel, and my little sister, who is now just six years old, has our mother's name, Lydia."

At the mention of the name of Lydia Madame PradÈre's countenance suddenly grew sad, and she gave a sigh that indicated sorrowful memories. In truth it had been the name of a little daughter that once brought joy into her life for a while, and then was taken from her, leaving a void that could never be filled.

Nadine meanwhile continued her narration.

"Our mother died four years ago when we were in the Tyrol, but it is only six months since we lost our father. He died of consumption after being sick for a long time."

Nadine's voice sank so low as to be scarcely audible, and the big tears moistened her cheeks so that she was fain to wipe them away with her handkerchief. Her parents had always been good and kind, and the pain of their loss was still acute.

"You poor little woman!" murmured Madame PradÈre, in whose own eyes the tears were glistening, "and you are the little mother to the others now."

She was more deeply moved by what she had heard than she cared to show, and in order to conceal her emotion she continued to ply Nadine with questions which the latter answered so clearly and correctly that the Mayoress could not understand a young strolling player being so well educated.

Had she only known the girl's parents she would not have been so puzzled. CÆsar Tamby and his wife were of respectable descent, and had always been true to their parentage in spite of the many temptations to which their mode of life exposed them. They had brought their children up with the utmost care possible in view of their roving life, and during the winter season, when it was not possible to give their performances, they had taken pains to teach them quite as much as they would have learned by attending the country school, for they were both well educated themselves.

Thus the Tamby children, although their business was appearing in public and giving performances to crowds that too often were by no means considerate of their feelings, nevertheless remained honest, simple, and refined in a remarkable degree.

"And your father," continued Madame PradÈre, "was he always—" here she hesitated a moment, and then finished the sentence with the polite word—"an artist?"

"Yes, Madame," replied Nadine. "His father was the manager of a circus in which he employed his five sons, of whom my father was the youngest. But on the death of my grandfather, and a series of misfortunes which followed it, the circus was broken up and everything sold with the exception of Nalla, and Steady, which fell to my father."

"Steady!" exclaimed Madame PradÈre. "Who is that? I know Nalla and Vigilant, but you haven't mentioned Steady before. Is he a clever animal like Nalla, or a comic one like Vigilant?"

"He is an animal that is as gentle as a sheep, and as good as can be," smiled Nadine. "Steady is an old horse, who was once upon a time quite a celebrity, but who having become very old, a little deaf, and somewhat blind, is now fit only to drag the van, which is our home on wheels. All the same he is a very true friend, and we love him dearly for he does us good service. Steady was given his name by my mother who was an equestrienne, and who always mounted him with confidence because his regular movements made her performance so easy. And now, Madame," Nadine concluded with a naÏve smile of apology for having talked so much, "I've told you about our whole family."

Just then Madame PradÈre heard the sound of a carriage rolling into the courtyard. She sprang up briskly and looked out of the window.

"That's the Mayor returning!" she said. "Wait here a few minutes while I speak to him about you," and giving the girl an encouraging smile, she left the room.

It was, indeed, the Mayor, accompanied by several officers who had been invited to lunch with him. These were former companions of M. PradÈre, who had once been a lieutenant in the army, and had retired upon making a brilliant marriage, which rendered him independent. So there were great doings in the chateau.

Nadine with much concern heard the clinking of the swords, and the most appetizing smell of the extra cooking reminded her that the Tamby children had not yet had any breakfast that day, while the permission to perform that she had come to obtain was still in doubt. If it were not granted there was a poor prospect of food for either the family or their animals. Oppressed by these disturbing thoughts she sat there in an attitude of deep dejection.

She was a young thing to be charged with such heavy responsibilities, and not a day passed that she did not keenly feel her youth and weakness. Yet before the other children her brave spirit never seemed to flag, or her resolution to falter. As she had to be both mother and father to them, she strove gallantly to fill her difficult part to the very best of her powers, and in truth it was nothing short of wonderful how well she succeeded. Still there were times when it seemed as if her burdens were becoming too heavy to be longer borne by her.

Meanwhile Madame PradÈre had conducted her guests into the big dining-room which opened upon a spacious veranda whence there spread a broad green lawn reaching to the river's edge.

When all were seated at the table she turned to her husband with a bewitching smile, and said:

"Your worship, I have a great favor to ask of you."

"Madame, that favor is granted in advance of its being asked," replied her husband with a gallant bow, and a look of unmistakable pride and affection, for his wife was a beautiful woman, and greatly admired by all who knew her.

"And my request applies to Colonel Laurier as well as to you," continued Madame, fixing her fine eyes upon the officer, who at once bowed in his turn, and hastened to say:

"I assure you, Madame, it will give me great pleasure to do anything you wish."

"I understand, Colonel," Madame went on after acknowledging his prompt assurance with a gracious smile, "that your soldiers have taken complete possession of the market-place."

"They have, Madame," responded the Colonel, considerably puzzled to guess what she was driving at. "There are so many of them, you know, that they require a lot of room."

"Yes, of course, I quite understand that," said Madame, her handsome features expressive of a gay resolution that was immensely becoming. "But do you know I shall need a part of the place this evening for a very fine performance, and I suppose you will be able to make room for the time."

Colonel Laurier was about to accede at once when the Mayor broke in hurriedly, and not altogether politely:

"Those mountebanks again! Have you them in your mind, my dear? But it is simply out of the question to-day. I could not think of granting them permission to perform in the market-place. You forget that there are two thousand soldiers there, and that it is my duty to guard against the occurrence of any trouble."

"That is the very reason I am doing this, your worship, and why the assistance of Colonel Laurier and his officers will be so helpful," persisted Madame, flashing her irresistible smiles from one to the other.

"Pray command us. We are certainly at your service," responded the officers in chorus.