"I beg this illustrious company to deign to excuse the assurance with which I venture to throw myself at the feet of its indulgence. In truth, does it befit a varlet of my sort, with his bristling face, his scarred doublet and hat, which have long been candidates for the post of scarecrow, to appear before a lady whose eyes put the sunlight to shame, and to utter a multiplicity of foolish things? She will tell me perhaps, that I must take heart, that I am not a peasant pack-saddler, nor a miserable spy, nor a servant to be beaten from morning till night, for it is said of servants that they are like walnut-trees, the more they are beaten the more they bear. She will tell me too that I am neither a sharper, nor a pickpocket, nor a coxcomb, nor a bully, nor an arrogant cur, nor a puppy, nor a giant-killer, nor a barbarian, nor a snail; that I am not an evil-looking fellow, despite a slightly vulgar countenance; but in the face of such qualities as those of the lady I see before me--it doesn't cripple a goddess to look at her,--and before an assemblage of noble lords who resemble a party of monarchs more than a cartload of calves at market, the bravest man in the world loses his bearings and becomes simply a gutter of ignorance, a sewer of stupidities, and the cesspool of all sorts of impudence." Master La Flèche might have chattered on for two hours in this strain, with intolerable volubility, had they not interrupted him to ask him what he could do. "Everything!" cried the good-for-naught. "I can dance on my feet, on my hands, on my head and on my back; on a rope, on a broomstick, on the point of a steeple or on the point of a lance; on eggs, on bottles, on a galloping horse, on a hoop, on a cask, and on running water, but this last only on condition that some one of the company will deign to be my vis-à-vis on stagnant water. I can sing and rhyme in thirty-seven languages and a half, provided that some one of the company will deign to answer me, without an error, in thirty-seven languages and a half. I can eat rats, hemp, swords, fire----" "Enough, enough," said De Beuvre impatiently; "we know your catalogue: it is the same with all such braggarts as you. You claim to know everything, and you know but one thing, which is how to tell fortunes." "To be quite frank," retorted La Flèche, "that is what I excel in, and if your radiant highnesses will write your names, I will draw to see with whom I shall begin; for destiny is an ill-tempered fellow who knows no distinction of rank or sex." "Go on and draw; here is my token," said Monsieur De Beuvre, tossing him a piece of money. "Your turn, my child." Lauriane tossed him a larger coin, the marquis a gold crown, Lucilio some copper, and D'Alvimar a pebble, saying: "I see that you all give money to the conjurer, but in my opinion he deserves only to be stoned."