It was certainly a remarkable performance. The shadows took the form of rabbits, swans, foxes, elephants, fairies, sailors with wooden legs, old women who smoked pipes, ballet-girls who pirouetted, twirling harlequins and the profiles of eminent statesmen--and all made with two hands and, at the most, the help of a tiny stick or piece of string. They danced and capered, grew large and then small, with such odd turns and changes that the flageolet-player could hardly hold his laughter. He remarked that the hands, whenever they were disentwined for a moment, appeared to be very small and plump. After about ten minutes the display ceased and the shadow of a woman's head and neck crossed the sheet, which was presently drawn back at one corner. "Is that any better?" asked a woman's voice, low but distinct. The flageolet-player started and bent his eyes lower across the graves and into the shadow beneath the window. For the first time he grew aware that a figure stood there, a little way out from the wall. As well as he could see, it was a young boy. "That was beautiful, mother. You can't think how you've improved at it this week." "Any mistakes?" "The harlequin and columbine seemed a little stiff; but that's the hardest of all, I know." "Never mind; they've got to be perfect. We'll try them again." She was about to drop the corner of the sheet when the listener sprang out toward the window, leaping with bare feet over the graves and waving his flageolet madly. "Ah, no--no, madame!" he cried. "Wait one moment, the tiniest, and I shall inspire you!" "Whoever is that?" cried the voice at the window, rising almost to a scream. The youth beneath the wall faced round on the intruder. He had turned white and wanted to run, but mastered his voice to inquire gruffly: "Who the devil are you?" "I? I am an artist, and as such I salute madame and monsieur, her son. She is greater artist than I, but I shall help her. Her harlequin and columbine shall dance better this time. Why? Because they shall dance to my music, the music that I shall make, here, on this spot, under the stars. I shall play as if possessed--I feel that. I bet you. It is because I have found an artist--an artist in Gantick! O--my--good--Lor!" He had pulled off his greasy hat, and stood bowing and smiling, showing his white teeth, and holding up his flageolet for the woman to see and convince herself. "That's all very well," said the boy: "but my mother doesn't want it known yet that she practices, at these shadows." "Ha? It is perhaps forbidden by law."