The other waited, his arms crossed, a smile on his lips. They grasped each other, but the struggle did not last long. The soldier was immediately thrown underneath the other; the mountebank put one knee on his neck, seized his head with both hands, and turned it completely round. We heard a crack. The soldier uttered a horrible cry—the wrestler had broken his neck like a rabbit’s back. I did not want to see any more and rushed out, whilst the crowd threw itself upon the mountebank. But in the evening an accidental turn in my walk brought me in front of the booth. In the midst of all the gaiety, of songs, of meals in the [p080] open air, of the illuminations and noise of the shows, the wrestler’s booth, silent and closed, was the only dark spot in the fair. An indistinct form cowered on the wooden steps. I went a little nearer to it. It was the gipsy, the juggler with weights. She was sobbing bitterly, her head buried in her apron—weeping for the prisoner or for the dead. [Illustration] FOOTNOTES: [3] No king nor prince did ever see Such a tiny dwarf as she. When a flea to bite her tried, The feast intended she denied, And tried to crush him; then she found With ease he threw her to the ground. The summer breeze, a zephyr’s sigh, Would blow her down in passing by. In fact, she was so slim and small (Although in no way beautiful), That when she stood in merry play, Upon a tiny scale, one day— Of brass, of copper, or of steel— With dress and petticoat and frill, And with her _coiffure_, furthermore— The whole weighed but one louis d’or. [p081] [Illustration] CHAPTER IV. THE THEATRE BOOTH. Although an open secret is now called Punch’s secret, it is certain that the marionettes’ theatre and the puppet dance are great mysteries in their way. Very few people have ever penetrated behind the scenes of these theatres. They are far better defended than the Opera, and I am not a little proud of having been admitted one day at the Versailles Fair behind the curtain of the Bermont Theatre during the performance of a grand drama, in one act, _The Spanish Brigands_. I had been attracted by a very brilliant oration from Punch, detailing all the amusements to be found within. [p082] “This, ladies and gentlemen,” he spluttered between his teeth in the usual way, “this is the real society and family entertainment. Everything is calculated, everything is arranged, to please the eye: a review of the greatest Parisian artists, dances in character, Icarian games held in honour both by the Greeks and Romans, a Spanish bolero, Harlequin’s celebrated feats on a bicycle, and, lastly, the great unpublished drama, now performed for the first time in this town, _The Brigands_.” We crowded in, about one hundred urchins, grandmothers, and nurses, eyes wide open in pleasant anticipation.