Régina was a fair-haired seraph who might have made the angels envious, for she had the most ideal and poetical beauty—but her language was by no means choice, and nothing in the world could change it. Her coarse speech made the friendly group burst out laughing, while all the members of the enemy’s camp shrugged their shoulders. Bressant, who was the most charming of the comedians and a general favorite, came up to me and said:
“We must arrange this little matter, mademoiselle, for Nathalie’s short arms are really very long. Between ourselves you were a trifle hasty, but I like that, and then that child is so droll and pretty,” he added, looking at my little sister.
The house was stamping with impatience, for this little scene had caused twenty minutes’ delay, and we were obliged to go on to the stage at once. Marie Roger kissed me, saying: “You are a plucky little comrade!” Rose Baretta drew me to her, murmuring: “How dared you do it! She is a Sociétaire!”
As for me, I was not very clear about what I had done, but my instinct warned me that I should pay dearly for it.
The following day I received a letter from the manager asking me to call at the Comédie at one o’clock about a matter concerning me privately. I had been crying all night long, more through nervous excitement than from remorse, and I was more particularly annoyed at the idea of the attacks I should have to endure from my own family. I did not let my mother see the letter, for from the day that I had entered the Comédie she had given me full liberty. I received my letters now direct, without her supervision, and I went about alone.
At one o’clock precisely I was shown into the manager’s office. M. Thierry, his nose more congested than ever, and his eyes more crafty, preached me a deadly sermon, blamed my want of discipline, absence of respect, and scandalous conduct, and finished his pitiful harangue by advising me to beg Mme. Nathalie’s pardon.
“I have asked her to come,” he added, “and you must apologize to her before three Sociétaires belonging to the Committee. Is she consents to forgive you the Committee will then consider whether to fine you or to cancel your engagement.”
I did not reply for a few minutes. I thought of my mother in distress, my godfather laughing in his bourgeois way, and my Aunt Faure triumphant, with her usual phrase: “That child is terrible!” I thought, too, of my beloved Brabender with her hands clasped, her mustache drooping sadly, her small eyes full of tears, so touching in their mute supplication. I could hear my gentle, timid Mme. Guérard arguing with everyone, so courageous she was always in her confidence in my future.
“Well, mademoiselle?” said M. Thierry curtly.
I looked at him without speaking and he began to get impatient.