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And then M. Binet fetched a sigh, and addressed himself to the elderly, swarthy, beetle-browed Polichinelle, who sat on his left. "But we shall miss Felicien," said he. "Indeed, I do not know what we shall do without him." "Oh, we shall contrive," said Polichinelle, with his mouth full. "So you always say, whatever happens, knowing that in any case the contriving will not fall upon yourself."
Laughter rippled through the audience and promised well. But M. Binet, standing trembling in the wings, missed the great guffaws of the rustic spectators to whom they had played hitherto, and his fears steadily mounted. Then, scarcely has Polichinelle departed by the door than Scaramouche bounds in through the window.
At intervals they halted, the cacophony would cease abruptly, and Polichinelle would announce in a stentorian voice that at five o'clock that evening in the old market, M. Binet's famous company of improvisers would perform a new comedy in four acts entitled, "The Heartless Father."
"Do you mean to abandon to-morrow's performance?" All turned to stare with Binet at Andre-Louis. "Are we to play 'Figaro-Scaramouche' without Scaramouche?" asked Binet, sneering. "Of course not." Andre-Louis came forward. "But surely some rearrangement of the parts is possible. For instance, there is a fine actor in Polichinelle." Polichinelle swept him a bow.
The apples began to burn red on the bending boughs; crickets sang day and night; squirrels chattered secrets of Polichinelle in the spruces; the sunshine was as thick and yellow as molten gold; school opened, and we small denizens of the hill farms lived happy days of harmless work and necessary play, closing in nights of peaceful, undisturbed slumber under a roof watched over by autumnal stars.
Binet went down screaming, whilst the fierce Polichinelle, fiercer than ever in that moment of fierce reality, spoke quickly into Andre-Louis' ear: "Fool! So much was not necessary! Away with you now, or you'll leave your skin here! Away with you!" Andre-Louis thought it good advice, and took it.
At five o'clock that evening the three knocks were sounded, and the curtain rose on "The Heartless Father." Among the duties inherited by Andre-Louis from the departed Felicien whom he replaced, was that of doorkeeper. This duty he discharged dressed in a Polichinelle costume, and wearing a pasteboard nose. It was an arrangement mutually agreeable to M. Binet and himself.
It was Polichinelle that spoke Polichinelle that mocks what time he slays. "What were you doing here?" he asked, and it was like moving the checkmating piece. Tremayne stood stricken and silent. He cast a desperate upward glance at the balcony overhead. The answer was so easy, but it would entail delivering Richard Butler to his death.
Polichinelle in black and white, his doublet cut in the fashion of a century ago, with humps before and behind, a white frill round his neck and a black mask upon the upper half of his face, stood in the middle, his feet planted wide to steady him, solemnly and viciously banging a big drum. The other three were seated each at one of the corners of the roof, their legs dangling over.
They are so important that they cannot possibly be discussed here. But every one will know the kind of things I mean. In connection with these, I wish to remark that though they are, in one sense, a secret, they are also always a "sécret de Polichinelle." Upon sex and such matters we are in a human freemasonry; the freemasonry is disciplined, but the freemasonry is free.
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