and made his way to the functionary.

"How does it happen, sir," said the Commissary, swelling in person,

"that I find you mountebanking in a public cafe without my

permission?"

"Without?" cried the indignant Leon. "Permit me to remind you - "

"Come, come, sir!" said the Commissary, "I desire no explanations."

"I care nothing about what you desire," returned the singer. "I

choose to give them, and I will not be gagged. I am an artist,

sir, a distinction that you cannot comprehend. I received your

permission and stand here upon the strength of it; interfere with

me who dare."

"You have not got my signature, I tell you," cried the Commissary.

"Show me my signature! Where is my signature?"

That was just the question; where was his signature? Leon

recognised that he was in a hole; but his spirit rose with the

occasion, and he blustered nobly, tossing back his curls. The

Commissary played up to him in the character of tyrant; and as the

one leaned farther forward, the other leaned farther back - majesty

confronting fury. The audience had transferred their attention to

this new performance, and listened with that silent gravity common

to all Frenchmen in the neighbourhood of the Police. Elvira had

sat down, she was used to these distractions, and it was rather

melancholy than fear that now oppressed her.

"Another word," cried the Commissary, "and I arrest you."

"Arrest me?" shouted Leon. "I defy you!"

"I am the Commissary of Police,' said the official.

Leon commanded his feelings, and replied, with great delicacy of

innuendo -

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