“He must look a fool!” cried a young guest.
“It seems to me that to be a betrayed husband must give a man a queer look!”
“That is a young man’s reflection,” said the Englishman. “If such things could be read on the face, the French would laugh much less at them.”
“Messieurs, I once played Sganarelle in Le Cocu Imaginaire; it was at Bordeaux. I played it afterward at Paris; but this that I am going to tell you about happened at Bordeaux. It was a performance that had been planned long before, and I was not to be in it. But all of a sudden the amateur who was to play Sganarelle became involved in a disastrous failure; he lost two hundred thousand francs. You can imagine that he didn’t care to act in theatricals then. The company was in dire perplexity, when Molé, who was one of them, said: ‘Pardi! I know a man who can help us out of the scrape if he will; he is a friend of mine, who acts like a little angel, and he happens to be in Bordeaux at this moment.’ And everybody said: ‘Oh! bring us your friend! Bring us your friend!’ Molé came to me and said: ‘Will you play Sganarelle in Le Cocu Imaginaire?’ I answered: ‘Why not?’
“‘You will restore life to some charming women, whom you will embrace—Do you know the part?’
“‘No.’
“‘It is very long.’
“‘I will know it to-morrow.’
“‘I defy you to do it!’
“‘What will you bet?’