Adolphe Meunier informed him, with a pale smile, that the house was a good one, and that the critics thought the play showed very careful writing. He expected, in return, a few complimentary words concerning his Pandolphe et Clarimonde. But it did not enter Constantin Marc's head to vouchsafe them.
Romilly shook his head.
"We must look forward to slatings. Monsieur Meunier knows it well. The press has shown itself ferociously unjust to him."
"Alas," sighed Meunier, "they will never say as many hard things about us as were said of Shakespeare and Molière."
Nanteuil had a great success which was marked less by vociferous calls before the curtain than by the deeper and more discreet approval of discriminating playgoers. She had revealed qualities with which she had not hitherto been credited; purity of diction, nobility of pose, and a proud, modest grace.
On the stage, during the last interval, the Minister congratulated her in person. This was a sign that the public was favourably disposed, for Ministers never express individual opinions. Behind the Grand Master of the University pressed a flattering crowd of public officials, society folk, and dramatic authors. With arms extended toward her like pump-handles they all simultaneously assured her of their admiration. And Madame Doulce, stifled by their numbers, left on the buttons of the men's garments shreds of her countless adornments of cotton lace.
The last act was Nanteuil's triumph. She obtained better things from the public than tears and shouts. She won from all eyes that moist yet tearless gaze, from every breast that deep yet almost silent murmur, which beauty alone has power to compel.
She felt that she had grown immeasurably in a single instant, and when the curtain fell she whispered:
"This time I've done it!"
She was unrobing herself in her dressing-room, which was filled with baskets of orchids, bouquets of roses, and bunches of lilac, when a telegram was brought to her. She tore it open. It was a message from The Hague containing these words: