The Equinox (Volume I, Number I)

THE DREAM CIRCEAN noble attempt to flagellate impurity—impurity of thought, line, colour, all we symbolise by womanhood. Hence the grotesque obscenity in nowise suggested Jewry; but gave a wholesome reaction of life and youth against artificiality and money-lust. As it chanced, there was nobody of importance in the “Lapin.” Frédéric, with his hearty voice and his virile roll, more of a dance than a walk, easily dominated the company. Yet there was at least one really remarkable figure in the pleasant gloom of the little cabaret. A man sat there, timid, pathetic, one would say a man often rebuffed. He was nigh seventy years of age, maybe; he looked older. For him time had not moved at all, ap- parently; for he wore the dress of a beau of the Second Empire. Exquisitely, too, he wore it. Sitting back in his dark corner, the figure would have gained had it been suddenly transplanted to the glare of a State ball and the steps of a throne. Merrily Frédéric trolled out an easy, simple song with perfect art—how different from the laborious inefficiency of the Opera !—and came over to Roderic to see that his coffee was to his liking. “Changes, Frédéric!” he said, a little sadly. “ Where is Madeleine la Vache ?” “ At Lourcine.” “ Mimi l’Engeuleuse ?” “ At Clamart.” “The Scotch Count, who always spoke like a hanging judge?” 109