“Monsieur Dalbreuse,” he said to me on the day after my arrival at Mont-d’Or, “just fancy that I had no idea of coming here to take the waters. In the first place, I am not sick; but it occurred to my niece that she would like to see Mont-d’Or, and crac! we had to start. I remember being at Plombières thirty-five years ago, with the famous Lekain. Did you know Lekain?”
“No, monsieur.”
“Of course not, you were too young. I acted in Lekain’s presence the part of Crispin, in Les Folies Amoureuses.”
“Ah! you have acted, have you?”
“Because I enjoyed it,—with amateurs. Oh! I was mad over acting. I had a complete wardrobe. I still have several costumes in Paris; I used to play the upper servants.”
“And your niece?”
“My niece? oh, no! she declares that she could not act well. As I was saying, I played before Lekain; it was a party hastily arranged at a contractor’s country house. We had a pretty little theatre, on my word, and Mademoiselle Contat was there and acted with us. Did you know Mademoiselle Contat?”
“No, monsieur.”
“Ah! you haven’t seen anything, monsieur! Such talent! such soul! and such a face! One day—I forget what play it was in; wait, I believe that it was Tartufe. No, it wasn’t Tartufe.”
Monsieur Roquencourt’s niece joined us at that moment, which fact I in no wise regretted. She took her uncle’s arm and said: