To this sally they could make no retort; they were still in state of bewilderment. To a certain extent they felt themselves in a kind of shabby fairyland. Was this strange old Frenchman as poor as appearances suggested--or a miser with occasional freakish impulses of generosity? Papa Péron shot at them a shrewd glance. Perhaps he divined their thoughts. Long experience had made him very wise, possibly a little bit cunning. "You think I am just a trifle mad, eh?" he queried. With one voice, or rather two voices raised in a swift unison, they disclaimed the insinuation. They only recognised several facts: that he was very kind, very generous, very hospitable. Papa Péron sipped the excellent Chambertin and fell into a meditative mood. "I lead a very lonely life, and youth, especially struggling youth, has a great attraction for me. I watched you two poor children to-night through the little peep-hole in my blind. _Mon Dieu!_ I guessed the position at once. You had come out in the snow and bitter wind, to try and make a living. You are two honest people, I am sure. _N'est-ce pas?_" They had been speaking in English up to the present moment, but momentary excitement, the stimulus of the Burgundy, had made him indulge in his native tongue. They assured him that they were. Papa Péron smiled a little sardonically. "Of course you are. If you were inclined in other directions, you with your talents, your sister with her good looks, would have taken up more paying trades than this. What have you earned to-night?" he concluded sharply. Anita answered in a faltering voice. "Over three shillings, Monsieur." The sardonic smile vanished. A look of infinite compassion spread over the lined face. "My poor children. Virtue is indeed its own reward." He turned to Nello, and his eyes flashed fire. "And that charlatan, Bauquel, gets a hundred guineas for a single performance. And he is not in the same street with you." "But Bauquel is a genius, surely, Monsieur?" ventured Corsini deferentially. "I have never heard him play, certainly, but his reputation! Surely he did not get that for nothing?" He spoke very cautiously, for although he had not known Papa Péron for very long, he had recognised that under that kindly and polite demeanour was a very peppery temperament. If he were crossed in argument, the old Frenchman might prove a very cantankerous person. Péron snapped his fingers. "Bauquel, bah! A man of the Schools, a machine-made executant. He never half understands what he attempts to render." Again he snapped his contemptuous fingers. "Bauquel, bah! A charlatan? It amazes me that the public runs after him. He has a powerful press, and he employs a big _claque_. _Voilà!_ On the business side, I admit he is great; on the artistic side, not worth a moment's consideration."