“Oh, sir! your watch is too fast—I am sure of it for——“
My manager was about to support his allegation by some proof drawn from his brain, when the town-hall clock struck. Génet, finding his reasons exhausted, contented himself with silence, while casting a despairing glance towards the door.
At length, I saw his face grow purple with delight.
“Ah! I said so,” he exclaimed, pointing to two young men coming towards us. “The public are beginning to arrive. They doubtlessly mistook the hour. Come, every man to his post!”
Génet’s joy did not last long, for he soon recognized in these visitors the two young gentlemen who had taken their places the previous day.
“You have kept our seats?” they said to the optimist, as they hurried in.
“Yes, gentlemen, yes; you can go in,” Génet replied, making an imperceptible grimace. And he led them in complacently, while striving to explain the emptiness of the room by saying it was only momentary. He had hardly returned to the box-office, when a gentleman of a certain age hurried up the steps, and rushed towards the pay place with a haste my previous success probably justified.
“Is there any room left?” he asked, in a panting voice.
My poor Génet did not know how to reply to this question, which seemed a jest; he, therefore, merely muttered one of those common-place phrases usually employed to gain time.
“Well, sir, to tell you the truth—I should say——“