"Dear me!" said I to myself, "these actresses must be clever indeed to be able to make themselves look so much like other folks! Here is this famous Mademoiselle Colombe, who, no doubt, lives in a fine house, has several men-servants, and goes about in Paris dressed like a duchess, and she is exactly like Pierrette! But my poor little girl could not sing so well, although her voice may be quite as pretty."
I was so fascinated that I could not turn my head away from the glass, and presently the door of the box struck me in the face. Someone had opened it, because Her Majesty complained of the heat. I heard her say:—
"I am perfectly satisfied. My first gentleman-in-waiting may tell Mademoiselle Colombe that she will not repent having left to me the management of this affair. Ah! it amuses me so much!"
"There is no doubt, madame," said the Princess de Lamballe, "that your good deed is a complete success. Everyone is here. See, all the good townsfolk of Orleans are enchanted with this splendid singer, and the whole court is ready to applaud her."
She gave the signal for applause, and the audience, who, according to custom, had hitherto remained silent out of respect for the Queen, gave full vent to their enthusiasm. From that moment, scarcely a word of Rose's was allowed to pass without tremendous clapping. The Queen was delighted.
At the end of the piece the ladies threw their bouquets to Rose.
"Where is the real lover?" inquired the Queen of the Duc de Lauzun, who thereupon left the box, and beckoned to my captain in the corridor.
Again the nervous trembling seized me, for I felt that something—I could not guess what—was about to happen to me.
My captain bowed respectfully, and conversed in a low tone with M. de Lauzun. Marie Antoinette was looking at me! I leaned against the wall to keep myself from falling. There were footsteps upon the staircase, and I saw Michel Sedaine, followed by Grévey and the podgy and pompous manager; and they were bringing Pierrette, the real Pierrette, my Pierrette, to me—my sister, my wife, my Pierrette of Montreuil!
The manager was exclaiming joyfully:—