And I returned on the stage with a smiling and animated face.
The performance over, the curtain fell on the illusions I had produced, as well as on those I had nursed as to my receipts. They were equally ephemeral in either case, for I had scarcely left the stage when I saw my manager coming towards me in the attitude once assumed by the steeds of Hippolytus, according to Theramene’s recital. He, so joyous at the commencement of the performance,
L’œil morne maintenant et la tête baissée,
Semblait se conformer à sa triste pensée.
“Here, sir,” he said, pointing to a small rouleau, “is your share.”
“What! my share?” I exclaimed, in a tone of indescribable disappointment; “and the rest?”
“The rest, sir, has gone in the expenses, and the poor-rate.”
“But the rest,” I still insisted—“the rest, what has become of it?”
“Well, sir,” my manager replied, in a lamentable tone, “the cashier states that the greater part of the audience received free admissions.”
Irritated by such an explanation, I hurried to the office, and opened and closed the door violently. The employé turned towards me, and without being affected by my abruptness, he bowed to me politely (another instance of Belgian courtesy).
“How is it,” I said, without replying to his bow, “that so many free admissions were given without my sanction?”