The marquis, who was of an ardent, impatient nature, made his appearance in the dining-room before they had quite finished the sumptuous repast which had been served to them; he would not allow them to rise, but seated himself at the table with them, and when the last course had been removed, asked the tyrant to be good enough to give him a list of the plays they were in the habit of acting, so that he might select one for the evening’s entertainment. But so many were enumerated that his lordship found it not easy to make a choice, and expressed his desire to have the tyrant’s ideas upon the subject.
“There is one piece we often play,” Hérode said, “which never fails to please, and is so full of good-natured fun and nonsense that it keeps the audience in a roar of laughter from the beginning to the end.”
“Let us have that one, by all means,” the marquis exclaimed; “and pray what is the name of this delightful play?”
“A capital title, upon my word! and has the _soubrette_ a good part in it?” asked his lordship, with a languishing glance at her.
“The most racy, mischievous role imaginable,” said Hérode warmly, “and she plays it to perfection—it is her chef d’oeuvre. She is always applauded to the echo in it.”
At this high praise from the manager, Zerbine—for such was the _soubrette’s_ name—tried her best to get up a becoming blush, but in vain. Modesty she had none, and the tint she would fain have called into requisition at that moment was not contained in any of her numerous rouge-pots. So she cast down her eyes, thereby displaying to advantage the length and thickness of her jet-black lashes, and raised her hand with a deprecating gesture, which called attention to its pretty, taper fingers and rosy nails. The marquis watched he admiringly, and she certainly was very charming in her way. He did not vouchsafe even a glance to the other two young actresses—refraining from testifying any marked admiration for Isabelle because of the prior claim of the Baron de Sigognac—though he was secretly very much delighted with her sweet, refined style of beauty, and the quiet dignity and grace of her deportment. Serafina, who was naturally indignant that the marquis had not even asked if there was a part for her in the piece to be performed, accused him in her heart of being no gentleman, and of having very low, vulgar tastes, but she was the only one of the party that felt any dissatisfaction.