good as medicine."

The Notary recovered himself at once. His volatile nature sprang back to
its pose. He could forget Paulette Dubois for the moment.

"It is Maximilian Cour in the garden," he said happily. Then he raised
his voice. "Play on, baker; but something for convalescence--the return
of spring, the sweet assonance of memory."

"A September air, and a gush of spring," said the baker, trying to crane
his long neck through the window. "Ah, there you are, Dauphin! I shall
give you a sleep to-night like a balmy eve." He nodded to the tailor.
"M'sieu', you shall judge if sentiment be dead.

"I have racked my heart to play this time. I have called it, 'The Baffled
Quest of Love'. I have taken the music of the song of Alsace, 'Le Jardin
d'Amour', and I have made variations on it, keeping the last verse of the
song in my mind. You know the song, M'sieu':

"'Quand je vais au jardin, Jardin d'amour,
Je crois entendu des pas,
Je veux fuir, et n'ose pas.
Voici la fin du jour . . .
Je crains et j'hesite,
Mon coeur bat plus vite
En ce sejour . . .
Quand je vais an jardin, jardin d'amour.'"

The baker sat down on a stool he had brought, and began to tune his
fiddle. From inside came the voice of the Notary.