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It answered to the spirit of the bleak moorland, to the steeps of the cliffs, to the mystery of the sea. Only one man in the whole throng was utterly unmoved by the abandonment around him. Perrin kept his deep set, keen eyes fixed on Dominic and his partner. He watched them leap with perfect skill, across the roaring flame of the bonfire.
A woman Erik never loved. Do I ask apologies of her for having lived with him kissed him?" There was a luncheon appointment with Mary James. Mary would bring a man. Perrin, maybe. Mary always brought a man. Without a man, Mary was incomplete. With a man she was even more incomplete. Mary insisted on lunching. Rachel hurried toward the rendezvous. She thought, "People can make me do anything now.
A. M. Chabrol, whose journalistic name was Lorbach, visited me on behalf of a company, whose director was an enormously wealthy man, with a plan for founding a Theatre Wagner, of which I refused to hear anything until it could secure an experienced man of first-class reputation as manager. Eventually M. Perrin was selected for the post.
I am writing to you in a hurry this morning because I have just received news from M. Perrin of the first performance of the revival of the Mariage de Victorine, a play of mine, at the Theatre Francais.
"I know the knife," returned the woman, becoming more literal as she went on, "and Marie Blanc knows it. Her husband once got the loan of it from Cloudbrow, and she looked at it with care, because she had never seen such a knife before. She knew all its marks. Why does Cloudbrow deny that it is his? Because it was Cloudbrow who killed Perrin.
At the entrance door I met Coquelin, who was playing the part of the Duc de Septmonts, which he did marvellously well. I showed him the letter. He shrugged his shoulders. "It is infamous! But why do you take any notice of an anonymous letter? It is not worthy of you!" We were talking at the foot of the staircase when the manager arrived. "Here, show the letter to Perrin!"
The music was written promptly and was given to Perrin, the famous director, whose unfortunate influence soon made itself felt. A director's first idea at that time was to demand changes in the piece given him. "A single act by you, Master? Is that permissible? What can we put on after that? A new work by Meyerbeer should take up the entire evening."
Perrin," he said, "this is my niece. She comes from the country. She knows nothing. Tell her everything that she ought to know. Help her with her clothes, and turn her out as well as you can to dine with me at Sherry's at eight o'clock." A bell rang at his elbow, and one of the telephones began to tinkle. He picked up the receiver and waved them out of the room.
The few letters from Perrin to myself which have been published were given by him from his letter-copy book. Of course, he only showed those which could inspire the public with an idea of his paternal kindness to me, &c. &c.
Perrin, who was a warm partisan of Croizette, bewailed the want of suppleness of her talent, so much so that one day Croizette, losing all patience, burst out: "Well, Monsieur, you should have left the role to Sarah; she would have played it with the voice you wish in the love scenes; I cannot do any better. You irritate me too much: I have had enough of it!"