* “Hearken, Bajazet, I feel I love you.”
I never wearied of gazing at her all the time she occupied the stage,
and admiring the beauty of her eyes that gleamed below a brow as pure
as marble and crowned by powdered locks all spangled with pearls. Her
slender waist too, which her hoop showed off to perfection, did not
fail to make a vivid impression on my heart. I had the better leisure to
scrutinize these adorable charms as she happened to face in my direction
to deliver several important portions of her rôle. And the more I
looked, the more I felt convinced I had seen her before, though I found
it impossible to recall anything connected with our previous meeting. My
neighbour in the theatre, who was a constant frequenter of the Comédie,
told me the beautiful actress was Mademoiselle B------, the idol of the
pit. He added that she was as great a favourite in society as on the
boards, that M. le Duc de La ------ had made her the fashion and that
she was on the highroad to eclipse Mademoiselle Lecouvreur.
I was just leaving my seat after the performance when a “femme de
chambre” handed me a note in which I found written in pencil the words:
“_Mademoiselle Roxane is waiting for you in her coach at the theatre
door_.”
I could not believe the missive was intended for me; and I asked the
abigail who had delivered it if she was not mistaken in the recipient.
“If I _am_ mistaken,” she replied confidently, “then you cannot be
Monsieur de Tournebroche, that is all.”
I ran to the coach which stood waiting in front of the House, and inside
I recognized Mademoiselle B------, her head muffled in a black satin
hood.
She beckoned to me to get in, and when I was seated beside her:
“Do you not,” she asked me, “recognize Sophie, whom you rescued from
drowning on the banks of the Seine?”
“What! you! Sophie--Roxane--Mademoiselle B------, is it possible?--”
My confusion was extreme, but she appeared to view it without annoyance.
“I saw you,” she went on, “in one corner of the pit. I knew you
instantly and played for you. Say, did I play well? I am so glad to see
you again!--”
She asked me news of M. l’Abbé Coignard, and when I told her my good
master had just perished miserably, she burst into tears.
She was good enough to inform me of the chief events of her life:
“My aunt,” she said, “used to mend her laces for Madame de Saint-Remi,
who, as you must know, is an admirable actress. A short while after the
night when you did me such yeoman service, I went to her house to take
home some pieces of lace. The lady told me I had a face that interested
her. She then asked me to read some verses, and concluded I was not
without wits. She had me trained. I made my first appearance at the
Comédie last year. I interpret passions I have felt myself, and the
public credits me with some talent. M. le Duc de La ------ exhibits a
very dear friendship for me, and I think he will never cause me pain and
disappointment, because I have learnt to ask of men only what they can
give. At this moment he is expecting me at supper. I must not break my
word.”
But, reading my vexation in my eyes, she added:
“However, I have told my people to go the longest way round and to drive
slowly.”