“Anger—passion—that’s right! I assure you that you will act splendidly!”
What a woman! it was impossible to make her reply to the question that interested me. We returned to the salon; I was in an execrable humor. I rehearsed with the book in my hand, but I said my lines so badly that Madame de Marsan laughed at me incessantly. I left her and went to bed; I was almost tempted to remain no longer in that house. However, I did remain; but I cursed womankind, all of whom played fast and loose with me. The only one who combined all the estimable qualities, the only one who manifested genuine affection for me, was the very one of all who could neither be my wife nor my mistress.
The next day I decided to learn my rôle; perhaps that complaisance on my part would be considered worthy of recompense; at all events, as I was to act, I did not choose to make a more awkward appearance than the others; so I studied Count Almaviva. I went into the garden, my Barbier de Séville in my hand. I have always been able to learn easily when I chose; in less than four hours I was able to act almost the whole play. I said nothing at dinner; I wished to surprise Madame de Marsan, who asked me laughingly if I knew it as well as I did the previous evening. When it was dark, we went to the salon; she refused to rehearse in the garden, on the pretext that it was too cool there. Was that really her reason? She took her part; I did not need mine, as I knew it perfectly. We rehearsed our scenes; I acted with such vigor and earnestness, such truth to nature, that she was struck dumb. Now it was my turn to scold her; I was obliged to correct her, to show her what to do; but she was delighted with my talent, and did whatever I bade her—let me take her hand, squeeze it, kiss it, throw myself at her feet.
“What! is all this in the play?” she asked, deeply moved.
“Yes, madame, it’s all there.”
And, taking advantage of my position, of all the privileges that my rôle of stage lover gave me, I was in a fair way to make rapid progress, when we heard a commotion out of doors. In a moment the door of the salon opened and Raymond appeared.
“The devil take the man!” I muttered; “upon my word, he was born to be always in my way!”
Seeing me at Madame de Marsan’s feet, he whipped his part out of his pocket, and began to shout at the top of his lungs:
“‘Ah! malediction! that savage, piratical villain, Figaro! How can one leave his home one moment, and not be sure that on returning——’ Madame, I have the honor of presenting my respects; I am punctual, you see.—Good-evening, my dear Dorsan! Why on earth did you start off yesterday afternoon without me? I would gladly have come with you. Well! I know my lines already, you see. I have a superb memory! With the prompter’s help, I am all right.”
Madame de Marsan thanked Raymond for his promptitude and complimented him upon his ease. Her agitation had disappeared; we went on with our rehearsal, and she was engrossed by her part. My hopes were crushed again! Infernal Raymond!