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Updated: June 23, 2025
Two ladies, sitting close to this enthusiast, had been listening keenly to this diatribe. "Do you know who that is?" one whispered to the other. "That is Valgrand, the actor," and they turned their lorgnettes on the actor who was waxing more animated every moment. A bell rang, and, heralded by the usher proclaiming silence, the judges returned to the bench and the jury to their box.
But Lady Beltham made a great effort and sat up, looking at the actor with strained eyes, yet striving to force a smile. "Thank you for coming, sir," she murmured. "It is not from you, madame, that the thanks should come," Valgrand answered magnificently; "quite the reverse; I am infinitely grateful to you for having summoned me.
Valgrand began to speak as he did upon the stage, restraining his effects at first and controlling his voice of set purpose to give full effect to it later on, modulating it cleverly. "At your summons, madame, the prisoner Gurn has burst his bonds, broken through the door of his cell, and scaled his prison walls, triumphing over every obstacle with the single object of coming to your feet.
Beaten down by the drowsiness that was quite irresistible, and worn out by his violent but futile efforts to resist the warders, Valgrand was half dragged, half carried out by the two men, his head drooping on his chest, his consciousness failing.
"Let's look at it," said the dresser, and, glancing through the notice, added, "yes, that's quite true: 'M. Valgrand has achieved his finest triumph in his last creation." He looked casually through the newspaper, and suddenly broke into a sharp exclamation. "Good heavens, it can't be possible!" "What's the matter?" the door-keeper enquired. Charlot pointed a shaking finger to another column.
Lady Beltham stopped her torrent of appeal, and looked at the actor crumpled up beside her. Suddenly she started and listened: a slight noise became audible, coming from the staircase. Lady Beltham stood erect and rigid: then dropped to her knees upon the floor. "Oh! It is all over!" she sobbed. In spite of his overwhelming longing for sleep, Valgrand suddenly started.
Someone who loves you is waiting for you there." "And it is signed ?" said the dresser. "That, my boy, I'm not going to tell you," said Valgrand, and he put the letter carefully into his pocket-book. "Why, man, what are you up to?" he added, as the dresser came up to him to take his clothes. "Up to?" the servant exclaimed: "I am only helping you to get your things off."
"We must not keep you long," the Baronne de Vibray murmured. "You must be very tired." Valgrand passed a weary hand across his brow. "Positively exhausted!" Then he raised his head and looked at the company. "What did you think of me?" A chorus of eulogy sprang from every lip. "Splendid!" "Wonderful!" "The very perfection of art!"
"No, but really?" protested Valgrand, swelling with satisfied vanity. "Tell me candidly: was it really good?" "You really were wonderful: could not have been better," the Baronne de Vibray exclaimed enthusiastically, and the crowd of worshippers endorsed every word, until the artist was convinced that their praise was quite sincere.
Charlot went to the door and peered through a narrow opening at the thoughtless intruder. "Fancy making all this bother over a letter!" he growled. "Urgent? Of course: they always are urgent," and he shut the door on the messenger and gave the letter to Valgrand. "A woman brought it," he said. Valgrand looked at it. "H'm! Mourning! Will you bet, Charlot?"
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