“You probably noticed that when he was playing Pincette just now, he was in delightfully high spirits at first, and did nothing but jump and pirouette; he sang all his lines, standing on his toes; he was a regular zephyr. But toward the end, as he attempted to pirouette from one end of the stage to the other, although it isn’t very large, it seems that he caught a stitch in his side; he must have twisted himself, or strained some nerve, or perhaps much less than that; but you know Monsieur Glumeau—he thinks he’s dying on the slightest provocation. Ever since then he has been very anxious, he goes limping about, holding his side; he wants to be rubbed every minute, and he’s afraid of inflammation.”
“Well, why don’t they give his part to Chambourdin?”
“Chambourdin! We can’t even count on him to play one of the robbers. He is standing almost under the skirts of a lady who is seated on the branch of a tree. Just now I called out to him: ‘Come and put on your robber’s costume!’ and he answered: ‘I am here at madame’s orders, and bayonets won’t make me leave.’”
“Sapristi! we must give the play all the same!” cried the druggist, who was most anxious to exhibit himself in tights; “doesn’t monsieur feel able to take the part impromptu?”
The druggist addressed this question to little Saint-Arthur. The young dandy, always keenly desirous to produce a sensation, was attracted by the suggestion and exclaimed:
“Do I wear a handsome costume?”
“You dress as you please.”
“Pardieu! in that case, I like the idea, and I accept; but, as I shan’t have time to learn the part, I will act in pantomime.”
“An excellent idea,—as good as that of giving La Dame Blanche without music.”
“What do you mean, Saint-Arthur, are you really going to act?” asked Jéricourt.