Mademoiselle Blanche
A Novel
BY
JOHN D. BARRY
NEW YORK
STONE AND KIMBALL
MDCCCXCVI
COPYRIGHT, 1896, BY
STONE AND KIMBALL
Mademoiselle Blanche
I
"André!"
"Yes, monsieur."
The little waiter, with anxiety in hissmooth, blond face, hurried to the table.
"Bring me the Soir."
André shot away, and presently returned,paper in hand.
"What is there good at the theatres,André?"
André wiped his hands in his soiled apron,and looked thoughtful.
"There's the Folies Bergères, monsieur.Dumont sings to-night."
"Oh, she tires me. Her voice is cracked."
"There's Madame Judic at the Variétés,"André suggested, tentatively.
[pg 2]"I saw her in the last piece."
André scratched his head, and stared atthe figure at the table.
"Monsieur likes the Cirque, does henot?"
Monsieur did not look up from the paper."What's at the Cirque now, André?"
"At the Cirque Parisien? There's MademoiselleBlanche, the acrobat. They say she'sa marvel, monsieur,—and beautiful,—themost beautiful woman in Paris. She divesfrom the top of the building backwards—hundredsof feet."
"So you think it's really good, André?"
André nodded. Monsieur dropped thepaper, paid his bill, left a little fee for thegarçon, and took himself off. At the entrancehe stopped and surveyed the surgingcrowd in the Boulevard Montmartre. Hehad just finished an excellent dinner witha glass of chartreuse verte; so he felt particularlycomplacent. As he prodded his teethwith the easy grace of the Frenchman whoknows no shame of the toothpick, he triedto think out a plan for the evening. Nothingbetter occurred to him than André's suggestion.[pg 3]He was not in the mood for theCasino de Paris, nor for any of the otherconcert halls, nor even for the theatres.Yes, he would go to the Circus. He hadn'tbeen there for ten days.
For years Jules Le Baron had attendedthe Cirque Parisien at least once a fortnight;his friends used to chaff him for hisfondness for it. Those who had known himfrom a boy liked to remind him of his firstgreat ambition—to be a performer on thetrapeze. Though this amused him now, hehad never lost his love for feats of daringand skill. Whenever he felt particularlytired from his work at the wool-house, hewould go to the Circus; it refreshed him,and he fancied that it made him sleepwell afterwards. His first love had beena beautiful Roumanian, who jumped throughhoops of fire, landing on her velvet-caparisonedhorse, without even singeing herlong, blond hair. He was fifteen then, andhe discovered that the lady was forty-five,though he could have sworn there wasnot a difference of more than three yearsin their ages. Since that time he had become[pg 4]enamoured of many of the glitteringamazons of the arena,