“What worries me is that Chambourdin doesn’t appear. What shall we do?” said Glumeau, looking at his feet. “I relied upon him, and I have no chevalier’s costume.”
“And he promised me, for the part of Roderic, the costume of Robin Hood,” said Astianax.
“Ah! you should do as I do, messieurs,” said the druggist, “and arrange your own costume for yourselves. I have transformed myself into an Italian bandit, and you must tell me what you think of him.”
“Does the action of the play take place in Italy?”
“I don’t know; but what difference does it make, as long as the costume is pretty?”
“Here he is!” cried Mademoiselle Eolinde; “a cabriolet is stopping at the gate, and there’s a big bundle in it. It’s Monsieur Chambourdin.”
“Yes, it is he; good! everything is all right,” said Glumeau; “he is more prompt than usual.”
Chambourdin appeared with an enormous bundle of costumes; there were helmets, cuirasses, tunics, long boots, wigs, doublets, small clothes, in short, enough to disguise the whole troupe. They all cheered, and carried Chambourdin in in triumph; they even proposed to embrace him, but he exclaimed that he preferred to dine. Thereupon they hastened to the table, but stout Dufournelle remarked that there was no need to hurry, because the audience was not likely to come early, and because by eating too hastily the actors ran the risk of suffocating on the stage.
Despite this advice, the ladies did hurry, and left the gentlemen at the table, in order to try on their costumes. The men took advantage of their absence to drink harder and to give their tongues greater liberty. Dufournelle, who had no part, made the champagne corks pop, saying:
“Come, messieurs, this will give you self-possession, verve! If you’re a little tipsy, you’ll act much better!”