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He and d'Espeuilles got a meter measure and measured off the distances with great care and precision before placing the wickets. This took a long time. Then he distributed the mallets and the corresponding balls to each person, and we stood in front of our weapons ready to commence.
D'Espeuilles stood behind the Marquis's bald head and reached over to put his finger on the note he wanted to sing, and then banged on that, until, after singing every note in the scale, he finally fixed it in his brain. Could anything be more despairing? Our next thought naturally was our costumes. The operetta was laid in the time of Louis XV.
We were rather taken back when Monsieur d'Espeuilles appeared in a wig and a false mustache; but he hastened to say there was nothing like being disguised to put one at one's ease.
When they were urged upon the Vicomte, he absolutely refused them, saying he would not mix up epochs like that, and, after pulling over everything, he decided to send to Paris for a complete costume. Count d'Espeuilles was less difficult to satisfy, and was contented with a black-velvet Hamlet costume, with a plumed hat, which suited no epoch at all, but suited his style of beauty.
Vicomte de V 's costume had not come from Paris, and he was bordering on brain-fever, in a state of expectancy and impatience. Neither he nor d'Espeuilles knew their songs, and the chorus needed much drilling. The Princess Metternich put her salon at the Marquis's disposal, and he spent half his time teaching some of his pupils.
Prince Metternich was so long and particular about telling the rules that he succeeded only in confusing all the beginners. The Empress was to play with the Prince Metternich, the Marquis de Gallifet with the Princess Metternich. The Emperor was to play with the Marquise de Gallifet, Monsieur d'Espeuilles was to play with me: eight people in all!
Monsieur d'Espeuilles was horribly confused, and I feared for the success of our da capo; but he patted the now limp offender back on his lip, and we continued the duet. During the applause the Marquis took the occasion to wipe the perspiration from his bald head. In spite of our qualms the final quartette was not so bad after all.
It was encored, and we sang it again. I gave him a withering look, which he pretended not to see. Perhaps he did not, for his attention, like mine, was startled by seeing the false mustache of Monsieur d'Espeuilles ungluing and threatening to drop into his mouth. The Marquis began wagging his head and making frantic signs.
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