His bow achieved a long tremolo; he lowered the violin from his chin, stood up, and greeted the travellers.
"That was a pretty air, Mr.Pincornet," said Rand.

"Why are you on the Monticello road?
Your next dancing class is at Fontenoy." "And how did you know that, sir ?" demanded the Frenchman in his high, thin voice.

As he spoke, he restored his fiddle to its case with great care, then as carefully brushed all leaf and mould from his faded silken clothes.
"I know--I know," replied Rand.

He regarded the figure in dusty finery with a certain envy of any one who was going to Fontenoy, even as dancing master, even as a man no longer young.

Mr.Pincornet looked, in the twilight, very pinched, very grey, very hungry.