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Updated: May 20, 2025
This theatre was altered and lighted with gas, in 1835, and will contain about seventeen or eighteen hundred persons. The ceiling was painted by Lemoine, a native of this city, and represents the apotheosis of Corneille. The peristyle fronting the rue des Charrettes is in the form of a quarter of a circle and is composed of columns of the ionic order.
As Jacques Dupré and Carlos Lemoine walked together they conversed earnestly, not of the real war so close to their doors, but of the mimic conflicts of the stage. M. Dupré was the leading man of the company, and he listened with the amused tolerance of an elder man to the energetic vehemence of the younger. "You are all wrong, Dupré," cried Lemoine, "all wrong. I have studied the subject.
As they were talking the manager came into their dressing-room. "Good heavens, Dupré!" he said, "why did you end the piece in that idiotic way? What on earth got into you?" "The knife," said Dupré, flippantly. "It went directly through the heart, and Lemoine here insists that when that happens a man should fall dead instantly. I did it to please Lemoine."
But it took them less than a minute to discover that the entertainment was not likely to be so extravagantly funny as they had hoped. The Colonel was not, strictly speaking, a tyro; moreover, he had, as he said, a long reach. He was no match indeed for Lemoine, who touched him twice in the first bout and might have touched him thrice had he put forth his strength. But he did nothing absurd.
Then he wondered where the letter had been posted, thinking this might throw some light upon the mystery. He looked at the envelope, and read the post-mark: "Rue du Cardinal Lemoine." This fact told him nothing. Once more he read the letter, spelling over each word, and trying to put a different construction on the horrible phrases that stared him in the face.
The man in charge evidently recognised them, for, saying a word to his men, they instantly surrounded the two actors. The sergeant touched Lemoine on the shoulder, and said "It is my duty to arrest you, sir." "In Heaven's name, why?" asked Lemoine. The man did not answer, but a soldier stepped to either side of Lemoine. "Am I under arrest also?" asked Dupré. "No."
M. de Broglie having gone, his majesty was compelled to look out for another confidant, and raised to that eminence M. Lemoine, clerk of his closet. M. Lemoine, in an inferior station had shown himself competent to fill the highest offices in the state. Such abilities are rare.
The more virtuous she grew, the more vicious did Lemoine feel. There was no love on either side vanity was the mainspring of the whole transaction. Lemoine did not like to be beaten; Sarah sold herself for a passage to England and an introduction into the "great world". We need not describe her career at this epoch.
But the Colonel had a last question to put to him. "At what hour," he asked, "should I be most likely to find this Lemoine, at leisure?" "Lemoine?" "If you please." Marsh opened his mouth to answer, but found himself anticipated by one of the youngsters. "Three in the afternoon is the best time," the lad said bluntly, speaking over his shoulder.
Can you hold with that?" he added, inspecting the hand with interest. He was a different man. "So, so," the Colonel answered cheerfully. "Not strongly, eh? It is not possible." "Not very strongly," the Colonel assented. His hand, like Bale's, lacked two fingers. Lemoine muttered something under his breath, and looked at the Colonel with a wrinkled brow.
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