Écoutez Bajazet, je sens que je vous aime.{*}
* “Hearken, Bajazet, I feel I love you.”
I never wearied of gazing at her all the time she occupied the stage, and admiring the beauty of her eyes that gleamed below a brow as pure as marble and crowned by powdered locks all spangled with pearls. Her slender waist too, which her hoop showed off to perfection, did not fail to make a vivid impression on my heart. I had the better leisure to scrutinize these adorable charms as she happened to face in my direction to deliver several important portions of her rôle. And the more I looked, the more I felt convinced I had seen her before, though I found it impossible to recall anything connected with our previous meeting. My neighbour in the theatre, who was a constant frequenter of the Comédie, told me the beautiful actress was Mademoiselle B———, the idol of the pit. He added that she was as great a favourite in society as on the boards, that M. le Duc de La ——— had made her the fashion and that she was on the highroad to eclipse Mademoiselle Lecouvreur.
I was just leaving my seat after the performance when a “femme de chambre” handed me a note in which I found written in pencil the words:
“Mademoiselle Roxane is waiting for you in her coach at the theatre door.”
I could not believe the missive was intended for me; and I asked the abigail who had delivered it if she was not mistaken in the recipient.
“If I am mistaken,” she replied confidently, “then you cannot be Monsieur de Tournebroche, that is all.”
I ran to the coach which stood waiting in front of the House, and inside I recognized Mademoiselle B———, her head muffled in a black satin hood.
She beckoned to me to get in, and when I was seated beside her:
“Do you not,” she asked me, “recognize Sophie, whom you rescued from drowning on the banks of the Seine?”
“What! you! Sophie—Roxane—Mademoiselle B———, is it possible?—”