“He is on the stage, monsieur,” said the porter, who took the stranger for one of the better bourgeois of Paris, coming to secure a good loge by personal intercession with the manager. Now, M. Duroset was at the very moment occupied in the not very uncommon task of giving a poor actor his congé who had just presented himself for an engagement.
As was the case in those days—(we have changed since then)—the Director, not merely content with declining the proffered services, was actually adding some very caustic remarks on the pretension of the applicant, whose miserable appearance and ragged costume might have claimed exemption from his gratuitous lecture.
“Believe me, mon cher,” said he, “a man must have a very different air and carriage from yours who plays ‘Le Marquis’ on the Parisian boards. There should be something of the style and bearing of the world about him—his address should be easy, without presumption—his presence commanding, without severity.”
“I always played the noble parts in the provinces. I acted the ‘Régent’——”
“I’ve no doubt of it; and very pretty notions of royalty the audience must have gained from you. There, that will do. Go back to Nancy, and try yourself at valets’ parts for a year or two—that’s the best counsel I can give you! Adieu! adieu!”
The poor actor retired, discomfited and distressed, at the same instant that the graceful figure of Richelieu advanced in easy dignity.
“Monsieur Duroset,” said the Maréchal, seating himself, and speaking in the voice so habituated to utter commands, “I would speak a few words with you in confidence, and where we might be certain of not being overheard.”
“Nothing could be better than the present spot, then,” said the manager, who was impressed by the style and bearing of his visitor, without ever guessing or suspecting his real rank. “The rehearsal will not begin for half-an-hour. Except that poor devil that has just left me, no one has entered this morning.”
“Sit down, then, and pay attention to what I shall say,” said the Maréchal. The words were felt as a command, and instantly obeyed.
“They tell me, M. Duroset, that a young actress, of great beauty and distinguished ability, is about to appear on these boards, whose triumphs have been hitherto won only in the provinces. Well, you must defer her début for some days; and meanwhile, for the benefit of her health, she can make a little excursion to the neighbourhood of Fontainebleau, where, at a short distance from the royal forest, stands a small château. This will be ready for her reception; and where a more critical taste than even your audiences boast will decide upon her merits.”