But courage, mon cher Bastien!  I will come and see you ch-chk, ch-chk!”—­he elongated and twisted his neck, at the same time turning his eyes upwards in a horrible fashion—­“while your feet go so ... so,”—­he described a species of pas-seul with his toes.  “Is that not so, Antoine?  Eh?—­you beauty, you?” and here he gave the great bear, that had been gravely sitting on its haunches watching him like an attendant spirit, a sudden and affectionate kick.

To Dorothy’s horror the great brute made a quick snap at him, which, however, only served to intensely amuse Pepin, for he skilfully evaded it, and, seizing his stick, at once began to dance up and down.  The cunning little black eyes of the beast watched him apprehensively and resentfully.

“Aha, Antoine!” he cried.  “Git up, you lazy one, and dance!  Houp-la!”—­the huge brute stood up on its hind legs—­“Now, then, Bastien, pick up that fiddle and play.  That’s it, piff-poum—­piff-poum!  Houp-la! piff-poum!” and in another minute the man and the bear were dancing opposite each other.  It was a weird and uncanny sight, the grotesque dwarf, with his face flushed and his hair on end, capering about and kicking with his pigmy legs, and the bear with uncouth waddles waltzing round and round, its movements every now and again being accelerated by a judicious dig in the ribs from Pepin’s stick.  Bastien Lagrange fiddled away as if for dear life, and the old dame, her face beaming with pride and admiration, clapped her hands in time to the music.  Every minute or two she would glance from her son to Dorothy’s face to note what impression such a gallant sight had made.

“Is it not magnifique? Is he not splendid?” she asked the girl.

“He is indeed wonderful,” replied Dorothy, truthfully enough.

Despite the suggestion of weirdness the goblin-like scene created in her mind, the grimaces and antics of the manikin, and the sulkily responsive movements of the bear, were too absurd for anything.  She thought of Rory’s story of how the “b’ar” resented being left out of its share in Pepin’s castor-oil; and was so tickled by the contrast of their present occupation that, despite herself, she broke out into a fit of laughter.  Fearful of betraying the reason of it, she began to clap her hands like the old lady, which action, being attributed by the others to her undisguised admiration, at once found favour in their eyes.  Dorothy began to imagine she was getting on famously.

“Honey,” cried the old lady, raising her voice and stooping towards the girl, “I like yer face.  Barrin’ Katie, you’re the only gal I’d like for Pepin.  I reckon we’ll just stow you away quietly like, and then afterwards you kin be his wife.”

But the prospect so alarmed Dorothy that her heart seemed to stop beating again.  At the same moment Pepin showed signs of fatigue, and the music stopped abruptly.  Antoine, however, in a fit of absent-mindedness, kept on waltzing around on his own account, until Pepin gave him a crack over the head and brought him to his senses.