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Meanwhile the other two ladies in the party were roaming about the dressing-room: Mme. Simone Holbord, wife of a colonel of the Marines who had just covered himself with distinction in the Congo, and the Comtesse Marcelline de Baral. "How thrilling an actor's dressing-room is!" exclaimed Mme. Holbord, inspecting everything in the room through her glass. "Just look at these darling little brushes!
"Come! come!" the Colonel protested: "a great lady like Lady Beltham, so religious and so austere? Absurd!" "People say all sorts of things," said the Comte de Baral vaguely. He turned to another subject.
Of its existence, independently of indirect proofs, we have a direct demonstration in the observation of MM. Bixio and Baral, who, being raised in a balloon to a great height, found themselves, on a sudden, although the sky was entirely serene and the atmosphere cloudless, in the midst of a perfectly transparent veil, formed by a multitude of little icy needles, so fine that they were scarcely visible.
Holbord, to whom the name did not convey much. "Oh, yes, I think I read about that: the murderer escaped, didn't he?" "Well, they took a long time to find him," the Comte de Baral replied. "As usual, the police were giving up all hope of finding him, when one day, or rather one night, they did find him and arrested him; and where do you suppose that was? Why, with Lady Beltham!
I suppose he uses those in making up? And, oh, my dear! There are actually three kinds of rouge!" The Comtesse de Baral was fascinated by the photographs adorning the walls. "'To the admirable Valgrand from a comrade," she read in awe-struck tones. "Come and look, dear, it is signed by Sarah Bernhardt!
The King and Queen of Spain, on alighting at the governmental palace, found awaiting them the grand marshal, the Duke de Frioul, who escorted them to their apartments, and presented to them General Count Reille, the Emperor's aide-de-camp, performing the duties of governor of the palace; M. d'Audenarde, equerry, with M. Dumanoir and M. de Baral, chamberlains charged with the service of honor near their Majesties.
This man Gurn is a brute, but a strange brute, rather difficult to define; he swore that he had killed Lord Beltham after a quarrel, practically for the sake of robbing him, but I had a strong impression that he was lying." "But why else should he have committed the murder?" The Comte de Baral shrugged his shoulders. "Nobody knows," he said: "politics, perhaps, nihilism, or perhaps again love.
Keeps er paint store down street, and deals in painters' merterial, but never buys er baral er biled oil wonc't in five yers; but, like de widder in the Scripter, he alers has er baral ter draw frum when er customer wants biled oil.
Yes, really: in her own house at Neuilly!" "Impossible!" cried Simone Holbord. "Poor woman! What an awful shock for her!" "Lady Beltham is a brave, dignified, and truly charitable woman," said the Comtesse de Baral. "She simply worshipped her husband. And yet, she pleaded warmly for mercy for the murderer though she did not succeed in getting it."
You saw him quite close at the trial, Comte: what do you think?" "The resemblance is perfectly amazing," said the Comte de Baral with perfect truth. The actor stroked his face mechanically: a new idea struck him. "My beard is a real one," he exclaimed. "I let it grow on purpose. I hardly had to make myself up at all; I am the same build, the same type, same profile; it was ridiculously easy!"
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