tempt for the world to affect any appearances that were not required of him by his position. He was accustomed to talk down to his audiences patronizingly, with an obvious realization of the fact that they were creatures of a lower order—working, worried people come to him for amusement as they might come to a high priest for religious consolation—and, while he lied to them like a press-agent, he did it for their own good, to take their minds off their troubles—a feat which he performed with ease.
It had been noticeable of late that he had been worried himself, as Madame Carlotta had said—that he had been bad-tempered, as Redney had had cause to observe. The staff of the Musée had supposed that this change in him was due to the "bad business"; and the staff, of course, had been right. But to-night he had broken loose in his lectures in a mildly wild sort of gaiety; and Redney—after listening to him at the lower end of the hall—had come to Madame Carlotta to see whether she was aware of anything that had happened to relieve the anxieties of her husband. Her conversation had convinced him that she was not in the secret. And when he came out of her tent, it was to watch the Professor again and listen.
The pompous little man cleared his throat. "Ladies and gentle-men!" he began, with a sort of benign contempt. "Allow me to in-troduce to your no-tice, Pro-fess-or Hei-namann, the cham-pine altitudinous a-erialist of the world."
Heinamann looked at the public, looked down at the
