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"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."
She had lost her temper with him, and called him a fool, whereupon M. Binet in Pantaloon's best manner had lost his temper in his turn and boxed her ears. She piled it up to the account of Scaramouche, and spied her opportunity to pay off some of that ever-increasing score. But opportunities were few. Scaramouche was too occupied just then.
"That is what I fear," whimpered Scaramouche. Binet heaved himself up in disgust. "Take him to bed," he bade them, "and fetch a doctor to see him." It was done, and the doctor came. Having seen the patient, he reported that nothing very serious had happened, but that in falling he had evidently sprained his foot a little. A few days' rest and all would be well. "A few days!" cried Binet.
Our chance meeting was a fortunate thing for both of us." "For both of us," said Scaramouche, with stress. "That is as I would have it. So that I do not think you will surrender me just yet to the police." "As if I could think of such a thing! My dear Scaramouche, you amuse yourself. I beg that you will never, never allude to that little joke of mine again." "It is forgotten," said Andre-Louis.
It was not, as you can imagine, a proposal that M. Binet would swallow at a draught. He began with a point-blank refusal to consider it. "In that case, my friend," said Scaramouche, "we part company at once. To-morrow I shall bid you a reluctant farewell." Binet fell to raging.
One of these hurled by the hand of a gentleman in one of the boxes narrowly missed Scaramouche where he stood, looking down in a sort of grim triumph upon the havoc which his words had wrought. Knowing of what inflammable material the audience was composed, he had deliberately flung down amongst them the lighted torch of discord, to produce this conflagration.
It remains for me to beg your pardon for my ignorance." "It amuses you to be cruel," said Scaramouche. "No matter. Shall we walk?" They set out together, stepping briskly to warm their blood against the wintry evening air. Awhile they went in silence, yet each furtively observing the other.
Were I a woman and had I your loveliness and your grace, Climene, I should disdain to use them as weapons of offence." "Loveliness and grace!" she echoed, feigning amused surprise. But the vain baggage was mollified. "When was it that you discovered this beauty and this grace, M. Scaramouche?"
It announces that they will open with "Les Fourberies de Scaramouche," to be followed by five other plays of which it gives the titles, and by others not named, which shall also be added should the patronage to be received in the distinguished and enlightened city of Nantes encourage the Binet Troupe to prolong its sojourn at the Theatre Feydau.
Scaramouche closed the door and faced the enraged M. Binet, who had flung himself into an armchair at the head of the short table, faced him with the avowed purpose of asking for Climene's hand in proper form. And this was how he did it: "Father-in-law," said he, "I congratulate you.
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