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"I will instruct you." When they came back the company was already at dinner. Mademoiselle had not yet returned. Sullenness presided at the table. Columbine and Madame wore anxious expressions. The fact was that relations between Binet and his troupe were daily growing more strained. Andre-Louis and Leandre went each to his accustomed place.
Thus Andre-Louis to himself from his observatory. Meanwhile, she was speaking. "That is what my heart desires, Leandre, but I am beset by fears lest your stratagem should be too late. I am to marry this horrible Marquis of Sbrufadelli this very day. He arrives by noon. He comes to sign the contract to make me the Marchioness of Sbrufadelli. Oh!" It was a cry of pain from that tender young heart.
"My God!" said Leandre, overcome, and he stared awhile. Then he burst out afresh. "Are you quite heartless? Are you always Scaramouche?" "What do you expect me to do?" asked Andre-Louis, evincing surprise in his own turn, but faintly. "I do not expect you to let her go without a struggle." "But she has gone already."
He had stepped to the front of the stage. "He doubts it," he was telling the audience. "But then this M. Leandre is himself akin to those who worship the worm-eaten idol of Privilege, and so he is a little afraid to believe a truth that is becoming apparent to all the world. Shall I convince him?
I have seriously thought of setting him to play Scaramouche, and playing lovers myself." "I don't think you would be a success," said she. "That is the only consideration that restrains me. And yet, given the inspiration that is given Leandre, it is possible that I might be convincing." "Why, what inspiration do you mean?" "The inspiration of playing to so adorable a Climene."
"Physically, my friend, physically only, else we should not have so much trouble in teaching this beautiful Leandre to become a lover. Then we have Pasquariel here, who is sometimes an apothecary, sometimes a notary, sometimes a lackey an amiable, accommodating fellow. He is also an excellent cook, being a child of Italy, that land of gluttons.
Her early compositions took the form of songs, but when only eleven she conducted a quickstep of her own, played at Versailles by an artillery band. Her really great works, however, did not appear until many years later. Her first opera, "Hero et Leandre," was successfully produced in 1874, and the psalm, "In Exitu," appeared at about the same time.
His emotion moved Andre-Louis. He took Leandre's arm. "You're a good fellow, Leandre. I am glad I intervened to save you from your fate." "Oh, you don't love her!" cried the other, passionately. "You never did. You don't know what it means to love, or you'd not talk like this. My God! if she had been my affianced wife and this had happened, I should have killed the man killed him! Do you hear me?
They touched his mind, but left his heart unmoved. Perhaps this was because of his antipathy to M. Leandre and to the issue involved. So her father was marrying her to a marquis! That implied birth on her side. And yet she was content to pair off with this dull young adventurer in the tarnished lace!
As for this humour such as it is which you decry, you might turn it to profitable account." "How so?" "In several ways. I might, for instance, teach Leandre to make love." Pantaloon burst into laughter. "You do not lack confidence in your powers. Modesty does not afflict you." "Therefore I evince the first quality necessary in an actor." "Can you act?"
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