“And what do you do with them?”
“I give them to the person for whom they are intended, monsieur,” and he smiled cunningly.
“All right,” I said. “I see you are my man. These must be delivered to that person at once. Tell me the first letter of his name.”
“H, monsieur.”
“Good. Here are the papers,” and I gave him the packet and turned to leave.
“But your name, monsieur?” he cried.
“He will know from whom they come,” I answered. “It is always safer not to mention names,” and I hurried from the place, for I feared that one of Hérault’s agents might arrive while I was there. I met no one, however, and turning up the Rue du Chantre, soon reached the Palais Royal.
The Théâtre-Français occupied a portion of the left wing, and the entrance was crowded with gayly dressed people. Thanks to Jacques, who had been before me, I had no difficulty in securing the place reserved for Richelieu at the right of the stage, and I looked about me with no little interest and some astonishment. The hall was not very large and but indifferently lighted. Two rows of boxes extended in a semicircle around it, encircling the pit, which was without seats. It was already filled with a crush of people, who were compelled to stand on tiptoe and look over each other’s shoulders to catch a glimpse of the stage. The stage itself appeared to be a mere strip of planks in the midst of this sea of people, for on either side of it were four rows of seats, one above the other, enclosed in a gilt railing, and at the back thirty or forty people were standing, through whom the actors must force their way in order to reach the front. As was inevitable in such a multitude, there was a perfect babel of conversation. Most of the boxes were still empty, but from the pit came an uproar indescribable. The din was increased by dealers in lemonade and sweetmeats, who pushed their way through the crowd crying their wares.
The boxes filled gradually, most of them being occupied by elegantly attired ladies, many of whom were masked. My attention was attracted by a party of especially distinguished appearance which entered the box across from mine. It consisted of three ladies, all wearing masks.
The ringing of a bell drew my eyes to the stage, and those who had come only to see the assembling of the audience withdrew and received their money back as they passed out. A boy snuffed the row of candles which served as footlights, and the bell tapped a second time. Something like stillness fell upon the house, and I saw two gentlemen attired in the mode of Paris, with swords at their sides, precisely as had every gentleman in the audience, break a way through the crowd at the back of the stage and advance to the front. One, so the playbill told me, was the Prince of Eubœa, and the other his friend Dimas, and the opening couplet was ringing in the air,—