When the parade was over, and it attracted so much attention that CÆsar predicted a bumper house for the evening, the Tambys made a very good dinner upon what was still left in Madame PradÈre's bountiful basket, and then Nadine and CÆsar gave the finishing touches to the arrangements for the performance.

What the little mountebanks called somewhat grandly their theater, was really but a few planks placed upon trestles not more than a yard high. The stage was about three yards long by as many deep, and there was a drop-curtain of calico sadly the worse for wear, while the back was closed in by a bit of canvas upon which had been painted some trees with the idea of conveying the notion of a forest.

It was all pathetically simple and shabby, yet Nadine somehow managed by dint of her ingenuity, aided by her excellent taste, to make it look better than one would imagine, by adding sundry little decorative touches such as only a woman's hand could bestow.

Half-past seven came, and already not only small boys but grown-up people also began to secure their seats upon the planks, the chairs in front being of course all reserved for Madame PradÈre and her guests.

A few minutes before eight the soldiers appeared in great number, and the young Tambys would have had a difficult job keeping them out of the reserved seats but for the presence of the gendarme, who called out at the top of his big voice:

"You cannot take those chairs. They are reserved for certain distinguished patrons as you will soon see. Let me tell you, then, not to sit on them."

"Oh! we're not deaf. We can hear you all right," retorted the soldiers, making haste to settle themselves in the best places that were still available.

When eight o'clock struck and neither Madame PradÈre nor the other guests put in an appearance the spectators commenced to shout:

"Curtain! Curtain!" and to utter shrill cries of impatience.

It was the soldiers that called out "Curtain!" after the fashion of the "gods" in the galleries of the real theaters which they had attended in the cities.

Nadine and CÆsar got very nervous, but they did not dare to begin before the arrival of Madame PradÈre.

At this juncture their good friend the gendarme came to their relief.

"Stupid that I am!" he exclaimed. "Haven't I forgotten to tell you that Madame, the Mayoress, will not be here until half-past eight, in time to hear you sing. You can therefore give the first part of your performance."

This information removed all their difficulties. The regulation three knocks were given and the curtain rose.

CÆsar, clothed in a long red gown, and wearing a hat shaped like a sugar-loaf after the usual manner of magicians, was revealed standing beside a table covered with a Turkish table-cloth, on which were arranged the glasses and double-bottomed boxes which are indispensable to sleight-of-hand performers.

CÆsar's tricks went off very well indeed, and, encouraged by the size and hearty interest of the spectators, he quite eclipsed himself.

There were several hundred gathered, and among them a number of children who were especially eager to see the different acts in which Nalla, Steady, and Vigilant appeared.

The soldiers, too, who often behave like a lot of children, grew impatient, and began to shout for the animals. They even attempted to imitate them, one grunting like the elephant, another neighing like the horse, and the third barking like the dog.

But the animals were tethered out of sight behind the van, and did not make their appearance.

When the clamor became too insistent CÆsar came to the front of the stage, and held up his hand to ask for silence:

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said with remarkable composure for a mere boy. "We are now about to show you some tableaux vivants. For these we ask of you complete silence, and a little patience. The exhibition of the animals will be given very soon. We will carry out the entire program as announced, and we beg of you in return, if you are satisfied with our performance, to be no less liberal with your money than with your applause."

This little speech quite took the fancy of the crowd, who cheered it heartily, and were about to settle down again to look and listen attentively when the sound of approaching carriages made itself heard.

Nadine's heart leaped for joy. Here at last were Madame PradÈre and her guests. The performance would be honored with their presence after all.

A moment later they appeared, Madame leading the way, her comely countenance covered with smiles, and accompanied by several of her lady friends, while Monsieur PradÈre and a dozen of the officers followed in her train, among them being the Colonel, who had thus fulfilled his promise.

This was a great surprise to the rest of the spectators, for certainly it had never been known before that ladies should be present at an open-air performance by mountebanks, while the soldiers were not less surprised to see their officers patronizing such an affair.

This, then, was the explanation of the reserved seats, and for a brief space the first-comers found it more interesting than the items on the program. By so happy a hit the little Tamby family had advanced wonderfully in the estimation of the spectators, who said to themselves that in order to attract such distinguished patrons as the PradÈres and their friends they must have some very unusual acts in their repertoire, and no doubt deserved to be called the little artists.

Nadine at once went forward to bow to Madame PradÈre, and to thank her for the honor of her presence, and her kindness to the orphans.

Madame PradÈre made light of that, but went on to say with an encouraging smile:

"My child, I came especially to hear you sing, for I believe that you can tell us pretty things that we do not yet know. So proceed, my little girl. We are here to listen to you."

Nadine courtesied gracefully, and disappeared behind the curtain. When the curtain rose again she was disclosed in the middle of the stage with her little sister seated near while CÆsar stood ready to accompany her with a mandolin.

A perfect silence fell upon the audience. The girl looked so pretty and modest that she won all hearts, and everybody was in the mood to listen to her with appreciative attention.

She began with a curiously rhythmical prelude, about which there was at the same time something sweet, sad, and strange that gripped the hearts of her hearers. Then in a superb contralto voice, and with exquisite taste, she broke forth into song.

As Madame PradÈre had expected, Nadine's singing was out of the usual order. She was telling in song the pitiful story of a mother who had lost her reason after the death of her only child.

The poor woman, wandering among the mountains of Bohemia, confides her grief to the passing winds, to the echoes murmuring unintelligible things, to the flowers nodding and smiling in response to the caresses of the evening breeze.

In her madness she imagines that the soul of her child has taken refuge in one of the flowers which bestrew her pathway, and she goes from one to the other of them repeating her touching refrain:

"Tell me, O flower! is it you that hides the soul of my child which was taken away from me by death?" Then realizing the futility of her inquiries she breaks out into sudden and terrible imprecations: "O death, you merciless monster! Why did you take my child from me? You are a foul fiend!" and more after the same fashion.

But presently her mood changes, and, forgetting her sorrow, she begins to sing to the same flowers that she had been cursing, in words of infinite tenderness, such as mothers use to their darling babes.

When Nadine ceased singing instead of a burst of applause there was absolute silence. So completely had she taken possession of her audience by the pathos and beauty of her song that they were unwilling to break the spell, and not until she bowed, and withdrew, did the applause break forth.

Then it was simply thunderous. From every side came cries of:

"Bravo! bravo! encore! encore!"

Blushing and smiling and with her heart throbbing joyously Nadine, looking more charming than ever, returned, and repeated the last verse of the song, putting into it such profound expression and such winning tenderness that many eyes were filled with tears.

At this moment Madame PradÈre called little Lydia to her and said, smiling through the tears that brimmed her beautiful eyes:

"My pet, you should now take up the collection. It is just the right time for it. Nadine has touched the people's hearts and they will not refuse to put their hands in their pockets. Will they, Colonel Laurier?" turning to the officer who sat upon her right.

"No, indeed!" he responded warmly, slipping his own hand into his pocket whence came the significant jingle of coin. "This crowd will give a fine collection I am sure."

"Very well, Madame, I'll run and tell Nadine," responded Lydia, bowing prettily, and she darted off behind the curtain, which rose the next instant showing CÆsar ready to announce the remainder of the program.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said with quite a grand air, as if fully appreciating the importance of what he had to tell them. "We are now to have the honor of presenting to you the famous trained elephant Nalla in his wonderful acts of intelligence and skill. He is the wisest and kindest elephant in captivity. He understands everything we say to him, and he can talk a little to us in his own way. There is no other such elephant on the continent. We call him our breadwinner because he is the chief attraction of our little show. Before he appears Mademoiselle Lydia will pass amongst you, and will be pleased to receive whatever you may see fit to give in return for the amusement we have provided this evening, and while she is doing this, if you have no objection, I will play a few tunes upon my mandolin. If any one present desires a particular air I shall be very happy to play it if I know how."

Having made this clever little speech with exceeding good grace, CÆsar took up his instrument and in response to the request of one of the officers, began the solo of the Toreador from "Carmen," which he gave with great spirit.

Meanwhile Nadine accompanied Lydia, who, holding a wooden bowl in her hand, began the round of the spectators.

Now on ordinary occasions this was the critical stage of the performance for the young mountebanks, as upon what it yielded depended the grave question of the morrow's bread, and too often, alas! the results were pitifully meager! Many a time had poor little Nadine, upon whom the chief burden of responsibility rested, found it hard to keep back the tears when, as Lydia set out with her bowl, the majority of those who had been watching the performance turned their backs upon the children who had been doing their best to amuse them. Ah! yes, many a time had Nadine, who had learned by experience to gauge her audience pretty accurately by one glance at them, felt her heart sink at the critical moment.

But this time nobody slipped away. They all remained in their places, and seemed eager to respond to the appeal about to be made.

Nadine first led Lydia up to Madame PradÈre, who had called for her that she might be the first to drop a coin into her bowl.

Lydia, as was her custom, repeated in her childish quavering voice, the words:

"For the little Tambys, ladies and gentlemen, a trifle if you please."

But it looked as if she would be more than taken at her word, for Madame PradÈre set a fine example by dropping a gold piece into the bowl!

When Nadine saw this the color rose in her charming face, and she murmured in a voice that trembled with feeling:

"Oh, Madame, thank you! thank you!"

"Never mind thanks, continue your round," laughed Madame PradÈre giving Lydia a gentle push towards the Colonel. Then, turning to Nadine, she added: "You have given me a great deal of pleasure, my sweet one, I assure you, and we shall want you to sing something more for us—another song about a child, if you can, you can do it with such expression. It goes right to one's heart."

"I shall be glad to do as you desire, Madame," responded Nadine, and, with a graceful bow, she followed Lydia, whose little cries of joy showed that her mission was proving successful beyond precedent. In fact she was receiving white money—nothing but white money—no dark coins at all. She had never before had such good fortune, and in her joy she forgot her sister's admonitions, and danced about exclaiming:

"Another, Nadine, and another! and still another!"

But Nadine did not attempt to restrain her, for she saw that the people were amused with the child's artless demonstrations.

When she had been to all the reserved seats, she turned to the soldiers and workmen who were in the rear, and none of them failed to put in a few sous, although, of course, they gave no silver.

Twice did Lydia empty her bowl into Nadine's lap. It was the first time the Tamby family had taken so much at a performance, and their hearts glowed with joy and gratitude, while the spectators awaited the second part of the program with lively interest.