The good Abbé Mascarolus was not less under the charm, thanks to some pharmaceutic specifics of which the Bohemian had given him the secret. The only regret of the worthy chaplain was to find the vagabond so obstinate and shy upon the subject of his conversion. Such was the serious side of the Bohemian’s qualifications. To that he united the most versatile and agreeable accomplishments. He had in a little cage two beautiful pigeons, which showed an almost superhuman intelligence; his ass astonished the household of Maison-Forte by the grace with which he walked on his hind legs; besides, the Bohemian played with iron balls and daggers as well as the best juggler from India; he was as good a marksman as the most accomplished carabineer; and, finally, to conclude the enumeration of this vagabond’s wonderful attractions, he sang charmingly, as he accompanied himself on a sort of Moorish guitar with three strings. It was doubtless to this talent that he owed the nickname of the “Singer,” by which he was known among his comrades. Stephanette was the first to inform her mistress of the new troubadour; in fact, although he was rather ugly than handsome, the flexible and expressive features of the Bohemian seemed almost charming when he sang his soft and melancholy songs. One must understand the calm, monotonous life of the inmates of Maison-Forte, to comprehend the success of the Bohemian. Reine, beset by the entreaties of Stephanette, finally consented to hear him. Honorât de Berrol, together with his betrothed, had made a visit to Marseilles, without the knowledge of Raimond V., to learn the results of the complaints entered by the recorder. In case the baron had aught to fear from these complaints, Honorât was immediately to inform Reine, and employ the influence of one of her relatives, who was a friend of Marshal of Vitry, to subdue the resentment raised by the imprudent conduct of the baron. Reine hoped to find some distraction to her sad thoughts, by listening to the songs of the Bohemian. The image of the unknown hero haunted her more and more. The fantastical, mysterious circumstances, which had so strangely excited her memory, interested and frightened her at the same time; in the meanwhile, desiring, or, rather, thinking to put an end to this romantic adventure, she had, to the great joy of Honorât, fixed her marriage on the day following the festivity of Christmas, and yet, the nearer the day approached, the more she repented of her promise. In the very depths of her heart she would ask herself with a vague fear if she no longer loved her betrothed as in the past. But this question remained unanswered; the young girl did not dare, so to speak, to listen to the response made by her conscience. Reine was seated in sad meditation in the little turret which served her as a drawing-room, when Stephanette entered and said to her mistress: “Mademoiselle, here is the Singer; he is in the passage, shall I ask him to enter?”