Charles Decroix

An orphan boy escapes from a reformatory.

A woman's inattention results in her daughter's being run over and killed. Grief and guilt drive her mad.

In a rage, a vagrant who has just been shoved out of the way roughly, hits Christ on a calvary. Driven mad by hunger, the vagrant pounces at a passing peasant but the moment he is about to hit him Jesus Christ appears before him. Later on a fire breaks out and the destitute man rushes towards the flames and saves a little child. But, exhausted by effort and hunger, he finally dies.

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George, passing a pretty woman in the street, has recourse to that old-time trick of dropping his own handkerchief and hurrying after her, making believe that he thinks it is hers. On examining the handkerchief, the beauty returns it, telling George that it does not belong to her. He then confesses that he knows very well that it is not her property, as it happens to be his own, and his offering it to her was only an excuse to make her acquaintance, so struck was he by her beauty. Upon this frank declaration the young woman draws herself up haughtily, but George is not to be discouraged, but follows closely behind her, ready to be of any assistance on the slightest pretext. We therefore see him arriving at the lady's house laden down with such articles as a lampshade, a statuette, a bunch of roses, a bundle of dress goods, and, in addition, leading an enormous dog on a leash, against whose attacks he is endeavoring to protect himself.

Mr Pipe is called into service for repetition. His fiancée is jealous and dresses up as soldier and goes with him without him noticing.

Monsieur Pyp leads a lavish life, without having the money to do so. When his well-to-do uncle suggests helping him financially with his business plans, Pyp is eager to take the chance: He makes his uncle believe that he has started to run a mushroom farm.

In all the arts the ancient Greeks excelled and their statuary, their music, their poetry, their dances, have remained to subsequent generations a standard to be followed and emulated. Terpsichore was the goddess of the dance, and if we read our mythology aright, taught the poetry of motion to her devotees. To all but a few who have made a study of Hellenic dancing such grace of action, such lithesomeness of body as was essential to the art when Grecian beauties tripped lightly and rhythmically over the green sward, is impossible. Mesdemoiselles Napierkowska and Marly, however, are superb in an exquisitely graceful ballet by Sacha Dezac, entitled "In Ancient Greece." The dance is perfect and the quality of the film is such that it is difficult to believe that the dancers do not themselves appear in the flesh before the eyes of the spectators, instead of being a mere photographic reproduction of their swaying rhythmic movements.