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Columbine clapped her hands and flashed her strong teeth. "But what a romance for you, Climene! How wonderful!" The frown melted from Climene's brow. Resentment changed to bewilderment. "But who is she?" "His sister, of course," said Harlequin, quite definitely. "His sister? How do you know?" "I know what he will tell you on his return." "But why?"
Climene had been silent and thoughtful, pondering what Columbine had called this romance of hers. Clearly her Scaramouche must be vastly other than he had hitherto appeared, or else that great lady and he would never have used such familiarity with each other. Imagining him no better than he was, Climene had made him her own. And now she was to receive the reward of disinterested affection.
However much he might affect the frame of mind of the stoics, and seek to judge with a complete detachment, in the heart and soul of him Andre-Louis was tormented and revolted. It was not Climene he blamed. He had been mistaken in her. She was just a poor weak vessel driven helplessly by the first breath, however foul, that promised her advancement.
His habitual melancholy seemed to be dispelled at last, and his eyes gleamed now with malicious satisfaction when they rested upon Scaramouche, whom occasionally he continued to address with sly mockery as "mon prince." On the morrow Andre-Louis saw but little of Climene.
Entering the green-room he found it more thronged than usual, and at the far end with Climene, over whom he was bending from his fine height, his eyes intent upon her face, what time his smiling lips moved in talk, M. de La Tour d'Azyr. He had her entirely to himself, a privilege none of the men of fashion who were in the habit of visiting the coulisse had yet enjoyed.
"Let me think it out," groaned Polichinelle, and he took his head in his hands. But from the tail of the table Andre-Louis was challenged by Climene who sat there between Columbine and Madame. "You would alter the comedy, would you, M. Parvissimus?" she cried. He turned to parry her malice. "I would suggest that it be altered," he corrected, inclining his head.
That night there, were high words between Andre-Louis and Climene, the high words proceeding from Climene. When Andre-Louis again, and more insistently, enjoined prudence upon his betrothed, and begged her to beware how far she encouraged the advances of such a man as M. de La Tour d'Azyr, she became roundly abusive.
If she ever had a name in the world, she has long since forgotten it, which is perhaps as well. Then we have this pert jade with the tip-tilted nose and the wide mouth, who is of course our soubrette Columbine, and lastly, my daughter Climene, an amoureuse of talents not to be matched outside the Comedie Francaise, of which she has the bad taste to aspire to become a member."
"And what may be the meaning of this?" demanded M. Binet, bewildered and profoundly shocked. "Does it require explaining?" asked Scaramouche. "Doesn't it speak for itself eloquently? It means that Climene and I have taken it into our heads to be married." "And doesn't it matter what I may take into my head?" "Of course.
M. Binet, worn already with battling against the strong waters of this young man's will, was altogether unequal to the contest now that he found Climene in alliance with Scaramouche, adding her insistence to his, and joining with him in reprobation of her father's sluggish and reactionary wits.
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