The empathy between a once-celebrated mime and a victimized young mute is so inevitable that it goes without saying--certainly without saying "How he hated to leave this new being, this young tree of such talent he shone with it. Would he, after his teacher left him, find a way to continue growing, to send out new branches of bloom and leaf and fruit, or would he be trapped in this village prison of poverty and prejudice?" To answer the question, Auguste unfolds after Monsieur Hilaire's death and frees others--to her mother's chagrin Avril the invalid blooms, to his father's shock Gustave the bully becomes a gentleman; then he is set upon by the villagers ('something is afoot. . .') and forced to flee: but "the magic now belonged to him, the magician." As it might if the spontaneity of gesture weren't crushed by the author's heavy hand.