“I rather pique myself upon my accomplishments in that line, I will confess,” Orestes said, laughingly; “but come, let’s go in now; the little beauty was startled, and will not show herself at the window again just yet. This evening I shall begin operations in earnest.” And the two friends turned about and strolled slowly back towards the house, which they presently entered, and disappeared from sight. There was a large tennis-court not far from the hotel, which was wonderfully well suited to make a theatre of; so our comedians hired it, took immediate possession, set carpenters and painters to work, furbished up their own rather dilapidated scenery and decorations, and soon had a charming little theatre, in which all the numbered seats and boxes were eagerly snapped up, directly they were offered to “the nobility and gentry of Poitiers,” who secured them for all the representations to be given by the troupe, so that success was insured. The dressing-room of the tennis players had to serve as green-room, and dressing-room as well for the comedians, large folding screens being disposed round the toilet tables of the actresses, so as to shut them off as much as possible from the gentlemen visitors always lounging there. Not a very agreeable arrangement for the former, but the best that could be done, and highly approved by the latter, of course. “What a pity it is,” said the tyrant to Blazius, as they were arranging what pieces they could play, seated at a window looking into the interior court of the _Armes de France_, “what a great pity it is that Zerbine is not with us here. She is almost worth her weight in gold, that little minx; a real treasure, so full of fun and deviltry that nobody can resist her acting; she would make any piece go off well—a pearl of _soubrette_s is Zerbine.” “Yes, she is a rare one,” Blazius replied, with a deep sigh, “and I regret more and more every day our having lost her. The devil fly away with that naughty marquis who must needs go and rob us of our paragon of waiting-maids.” Just at this point they were interrupted by the noise of an arrival, and leaning out of the window saw three fine mules, richly caparisoned in the gay Spanish fashion, entering the court, with a great jingling of bells and clattering of hoofs. On the first one was mounted a lackey in gray livery, and well armed, who led by a long strap a second mule heavily laden with baggage, and on the third was a young woman, wrapped in a large cloak trimmed with fur, and with her hat, a gray felt with a scarlet feather, drawn down over her eyes, so as to conceal her face from the two interested spectators at the window above. “I say, Hérode,” exclaimed the pedant, “doesn’t all this remind you of something? It seems to me this is not the first time we have heard the jingling of those bells, eh?” “By Saint Alipantin!” cried the tyrant, joyfully, “these are the very mules that carried Zerbine off so mysteriously. Speak of a wolf—”