pings of the ambulant theatre might be heard, making the shrill continuous plaint of inanimate weight. The one which came first, drawn by two horses, was a long edifice in alternate red and yellow planks, upon which might be read, in huge white letters, Grand Théatre Duchatellier. Its sides were diversified by windows with green shutters, and from its roof came a stove-pipe in the form of the letter T, from whence smoke was coming. The front formed a verandah, with a round gallery and glass doors. Smaller and more humble was the second roulotte, drawn by a single horse, although it seemed heavily charged, to judge by the planks, the trestles, and canvas rolls of scenery which were heaped up upon the imperial.

"Beside these vans marched men in

costumes as remarkable in their form as in their colour, and which evidently had little to do with ordinary life, but had been drawn from the stage wardrobe when the wind began to blow, as a defence against the cold. It was the grey overcoat, with little capes, of Chopart,ditl' Aimable, which enveloped the driver of the first vehicle, M. Duchatellier himself; the torn cloak of Don Cæsar de Bazan was wrapped round old Lachapelle, the business of the troupe, who for the moment led by the bridle Belisarius, the old blind horse which drew the second van, Théodore, the comedian, had wrapped himself in the mantle of the Duke de Brabant; Joseph, the lover and first walking-gentleman, was muffled in the shawl which was used for comic Englishmen; and Stanislas, as the son of the house, who could take all liberties, had allowed himself the use of the judge's cape of white rabbitskin, combined with the fur bonnet, without which no good jailer ever appears on the stage."

This cavalcade descends with the greatest trouble, and only by dint of immense precautions, the dangerous and icy slope, the women being called out of the vans to make the descent easier. They consist of Madame Duchatellier, an excellent mother, who "à representer les princesses avait pris

des attitudes de dignité, et des habitudes de lenteur majestueuse:" Zyte, the eldest daughter, the genius of the company: and Marietta, the younger, who "jouait les rôles d'enfant ainsi qui ceux d'amoureuse, selon les nécessités du répertoire allant intrépidement de l'âge de sept ans à celui de vingt ou de vingt-cinq."

These feminine figures complete the troupe. They arrive at length at Noisy, where they are received with enthusiasm by the wayfarers about the streets. "Les Duchatelliers-les Duchatelliers !" cry the gamins. "C'est que pour Noisy,

l'arrivée des Duchatelliers était la promesse de deux mois du plaisir, on allait s'amuser, rire, pleurer,". for the strolling company was well known and much appreciated. Before they even sup or rest after their journey, the men hasten to proclaim their arrival with trumpet, cornet, and drum, after which M. Duchatellier announces the series In all this of entertainments. there is a very visible trace of Dickens, but M. Malot succeeds in interesting us in his poor players and their whimsical ways. It is unnecessary to say that one of them, Joseph the jeune premier, is passionately in love with Zyte, who does everything she can, with the prettiest kindness and indifference, to cure him of his passion, but in vain. It is equally unnecessary to add that amid this homely troop-her father, full of pompous belief in himself, her mother playing contre cœur because she cannot help it, and very badly, while the others fulfil their parts with ordinary success, to the satisfaction of the village audience— Zyte is the one born actress, whose appearance on the stage bewilders and entrances the visitors of a higher class, the little party of Parisians whom chance has (as

a matter of course) brought that way. From the setting up of the theatre itself, which is made easy by the aptitudes particulières of Théodore and Joseph, who, before they became actors, had been workmen-Joseph a carpenter, Théodore a painter-to the details of the representation, we are behind the scenes and see everything and the vain, goodhumoured, friendly group in the camaraderie of the roulette, are all set before us with genuine spirit and sympathy. The old man of the party, le Père Lachapelle, holds to Zyte the position which old Bowes the fiddler held to the famous Miss Fotheringay, otherwise Costigan, when young Pendennis first made that lady's acquaintance. He has trained her to a higher art than any which the roulotte is acquainted with; and when the Parisians bring to the little theatre at Noisy a young but already well-known dramatist, whose piece is about to be performed at the Odéon, but who has no one good enough to play the part of his heroine, Zyte electrifies him by her power and capacity, as she does the manager of the Odéon, to whom she is taken by her pleased yet discontented father, who cannot understand why it is Zyte that is wanted, and not himself. The girl steps at once from the roulotte to the chief rôle in the Odéon, and does not lose her head. But astonishing as this development is, it is very well managed, and the enthusiastic intelligence of the young creature, who has learned her part before it is supposed she can have read it; her interest in her art— the art to which she has been born; her freshness and grace, and good sense and zeal, are extremely attractive. It is no small business to equip her for that decisive interview with the

manager which is to make or mar her fortune. The roulotte meets and draws forth its little purse, each man offering his savings; but we are at first in doubt how the matter is to be managed, for Zyte sets out with her father for Paris in an old alpaca dress, which her mother sits up half the night to mend, in Madame Duchatellier's Sunday bonnet, and a cloak which some good Christian has given to Marietta. In this humble garb she is taken to the shop of a marchande de toilette, whence she issues a different being, dressed not in old clothes, as we at first fear, but in a pattern dress bought at the end of the season, in which the poor daughter of the roulotte feels herself transformed, as much as did M. Halevy's little coquette of the Marais in the first costume concocted by the clever Félicie.

The article of dress,

and the unfailing feminine-and for that matter, masculine toosatisfaction in it, is never overlooked by the French romancer. He is instinctively convinced of its importance to the morals, as well as to the comfort of his characters.

Zyte, it is unnecessary to say, has a complete success in the modern play, in which she is at first called upon to act. But when she comes to the great ordeal which awaits every rising actress dreaming of the Comédie Française, and has to play Chimène, her heart begins to fail her. Everything depends upon this. Zyte sends for her old master, Lachapelle, who is not satisfied with her appearance at the rehearsal, and at first is in despair, for there are but ten days in which to amend all faults and attain perfection. attain perfection. Finally, he decides that there is but one way in which this can be done, which is to procure for Zyte the instruc

tions of a certain great actress who had played Chimène in her day as nobody ever played before, but who had retired many years since, in the full blaze of her beauty and talent, à la suite d'un désespoir d'amour, to her native village in the depths of Normandy. Zyte has two performances on Sunday at her theatre, but none on Monday, and she sets out at midnight with her old friend in search of this mysterious instructress. We are not sufficiently learned in the records of the French theatre to know whether this brief but curious episode is founded upon fact. The travelers, after their night jour. ney, find themselves in the extreme quietude of the country, the early morning just brightening over a plain covered with apple-trees, and a church tower and some tiled roofs shining in the rising sun. The great actress, une femme aux cheveux tout blancs, whom they follow from the church-door, where she has heard the early mass, to a peasant's cottage covered with thatch, in the midst of an orchard of blossoming apple-trees, grants with much reluctance Lachapelle's prayer, and gives Zyte an admirable analysis of the great part she has to perform. Nothing can be finer than the criticism and exposition of Chimène, which reminds us a little of the more eloquent and prolonged analysis of her favourite characters, lately given to the world by Lady Martin, whose retirement from the scene of her glories had, happily, no such melancholy cause as that of Mademoiselle Rousseau. Full of enthusiasm and eagerness, Zyte listens and watches "ne la quittant pas des yeux, suspendue à ses lèvres, tâchant de saisir ces gestes et ses accents qui transfiguraient cette femme à cheveux blancs, redevenue

pour une heure la Chimène dont Lachapelle parlait avec sa pieuse enthousiasme." Decidedly M. Malot, if he has no real counterpart in his eye, must have read the charming and graceful delineations of our own great actress éméritée. They work together all day, with an excitement and fervour which calls forth all Zyte's dawning genius; and when she and her old friend return to the village auberge for the night, they continue their rehearsal until the whole house is troubled. "Qu'avaient ills donc à crier comme ça?"

"A curious maid, who had listened at the door, explained the enigma. It is a lady who has lost her father; I don't know what was the old gentleman's name, but what she said was, I have lost my father. Poor thing!'

In the middle of the second day, when the travellers take their leave of Mademoiselle Rousseau, in order to hasten back to Paris for Zyte's performance that night, the recluse takes a tender leave of her disciple, in words which convey a prophecy of fate :

My child, you are very pretty, and you seem to have a tender heart. May God turn aside misfortune from your path. Love your art love nothing but that."

A shiver goes through the young actress at these words, and with reason; for she loves already the gentle - hearted but weak-minded young man who has been instrumental in the first place in bringing her to Paris, and misfortune is on its way.

We cannot follow the story in all its details. Gaston Chamontain is the son of one of those selfmade men with whom we are so familiar in fiction. Chamontain père has married his only daughter to a duke. He means his only son to be equally fortunate : and the idea of his marriage to