affairs. In one of the pauses a song came monotonously lilting down the
street; yet it was not a song, it was only a sort of humming or chanting.
Immediately there was a clapping of hands, a flutter of female voices,
and delighted exclamations of children.

"Oh, it's a dancing bear, it's a dancing bear!" they cried.

"Is it Pito?" asked one.

"Is it Adrienne?" cried another.

"But no; I'll bet it's Victor!" exclaimed a third. As the man and the
bear came nearer, they saw it was neither of these. The man's voice was
not unpleasant; it had a rolling, crooning sort of sound, a little weird,
as though he had lived where men see few of their kind and have much to
do with animals.

He was bearded, but young; his hair grew low on his forehead, and,
although it was summer time, a fur cap was set far back, like a fez, upon
his black curly hair. His forehead was corrugated, like that of a man of
sixty who had lived a hard life; his eyes were small, black and piercing.
He wore a thick, short coat, a red sash about his waist, a blue flannel
shirt, and a loose red scarf, like a handkerchief, at his throat. His
feet were bare, and his trousers were rolled half way up to his knee. In
one hand he carried a short pole with a steel pike in it, in the other a
rope fastened to a ring in the bear's nose.

The bear, a huge brown animal, upright on his hind legs, was dancing
sideways along the road, keeping time to the lazy notes of his leader's
voice.