[CHAPTER II]
While the young and beautiful abbess[1] thus gave vent to her thoughts, the king, without knocking, entered Porporina's dressing-room, just as she was regaining her consciousness.
"Well, signora," said he, in a kind and even polite tone, "how are you now? Are you subject to such accidents? In your profession it is most inconvenient. Has anything put you out? Are you too ill to speak?—Tell me, you, sir," said he to the doctor, "if she be very ill."
"Yes, sire," said the medical man, "the pulse is scarcely perceptible. There is much irregularity in the circulation, the functions of life appear to be suspended. Her skin is icy."
"That is true," said the king, taking the hand of the young girl in his. "The eye is fixed, and the mouth discolored. Give her some of Hoffman's drops. D—n! I was afraid this was only a little extra scene. This girl is sick, and is neither malicious nor depraved. That is true. Porporino, no one has put her out this evening? Eh? No one has complained of her?"
"Sire," said Porporino, "she is not an actress, but an angel."
"Indeed! Are you in love with her?"
"No, sire; I respect her greatly, and look on her as my sister."
"Thank you two, and God, who has given up the condemnation of comedians, my theatre has become a school of virtue. Ah, she now revives! Porporina, do you not know me?"