M. de La Tour d’Azyr never heeded him or his stare; nor, had he done so, would he have known who it was that looked at him from behind the make-up of Scaramouche; nor, again, had he known, would he have been in the least troubled or concerned.
Andre-Louis sat down apart, his mind in turmoil. Presently he found a mincing young gentleman addressing him, and made shift to answer as was expected. Climene having been thus sequestered, and Columbine being already thickly besieged by gallants, the lesser visitors had to content themselves with Madame and the male members of the troupe. M. Binet, indeed, was the centre of a gay cluster that shook with laughter at his sallies. He seemed of a sudden to have emerged from the gloom of the last two days into high good-humour, and Scaramouche observed how persistently his eyes kept flickering upon his daughter and her splendid courtier.
That night there, were high words between Andre-Louis and Climene, the high words proceeding from Climene. When Andre-Louis again, and more insistently, enjoined prudence upon his betrothed, and begged her to beware how far she encouraged the advances of such a man as M. de La Tour d’Azyr, she became roundly abusive. She shocked and stunned him by her virulently shrewish tone, and her still more unexpected force of invective.
He sought to reason with her, and finally she came to certain terms with him.
“If you have become betrothed to me simply to stand as an obstacle in my path, the sooner we make an end the better.”
“You do not love me then, Climene?”
“Love has nothing to do with it. I’ll not tolerate your insensate jealousy. A girl in the theatre must make it her business to accept homage from all.”
“Agreed; and there is no harm, provided she gives nothing in exchange.”
White-faced, with flaming eyes she turned on him at that.
“Now, what exactly do you mean?”