This appeared to all a mere gasconade, and was much laughed at. The king, however, concluded the agreement with him. Lenoir set to work, and kept his word. But the public feared that a building so quickly erected could not be safe, and when it opened no one would go.
Even the few courageous ones who did go to the first representation of “Adéle de Ponthieu” made their wills first. The architect was in despair. He came to the king to consult him as to what was to be done.
It was just after the birth of the dauphin; all Paris was full of joy. The king advised him to announce a gratuitous performance in honor of the event, and give a ball after. Doubtless plenty would come, and if the theater stood, its safety was established.
“Thanks, sire,” said the architect.
“But reflect, first,” said the king, “if there be a crowd, are you sure of your building?”
“Sire, I am sure, and shall go there myself.”
“I will go to the second representation,” said the king.
The architect followed this advice. They played “Adéle de Ponthieu” to three thousand spectators, who afterwards danced. After this there could be no more fear. It was three years afterwards that Madame de la Motte and the cardinal went to the ball.
CHAPTER XXIII.
THE BALL AT THE OPERA.
The ball was at its height when they glided in quietly, and were soon lost in the crowd. A couple had taken refuge from the pressure under the queen’s box; one of them wore a white domino and the other a black one. They were talking with great animation. “I tell you, Oliva,” said the black domino, “that I am sure you are expecting some one. Your head is no longer a head, but a weather cock, and turns round to look after every newcomer.”