"What grace, what majesty!"
That was the signal for the wreath to descend. Raymond let the cord go;
a sudden murmur ran through the hall, then bursts of laughter arose on
all sides.
"Stop! stop!" someone called from the stage. Raymond put his head out
from the wings to witness the tableau, and saw that, instead of a wreath
of flowers, he had lowered a syringe on Fanchon's head.
The confusion was at its height; the hall rang with laughter, while on
the stage wrath at Raymond's blundering folly was still predominant. The
young lady who had played Fanchon was obliged to push the syringe away
from her head. Raymond dropped the cord and ran out on the stage,
crying:
"It wasn't my fault; it's Pourceaugnac's syringe--and that idiot of a
gardener forgot to take it off! It should have been a wreath. But we'll
make up for this.--Forward, Cupids!"
He gave the signal, the orchestra played Zéphire's air from _Psyche_,
and everybody waited impatiently for what was coming. Again Raymond
clapped his hands.
"Come on, Cupids!" he cried; "come out, I say!"
But nothing came out of the prompter's box. The audience, tired of
waiting to no purpose, prepared to leave the hall, and the actors to
vacate the stage. In vain did Raymond try to detain them, crying:
"They're coming! they'll appear in a minute! they must be putting on the
bands!"
Nobody listened to him. In his rage he determined to find his Cupids, at
all events; he jumped down into the prompter's box, looked under the
stage and in every corner of the building, but he did not succeed in
finding them.
The two little fellows were dressed and ready two hours before it was
time for them to appear. The gardener, bewildered by all the orders he
had received, had entirely forgotten the wreath; but he had made some
bouquets, which he gave to the children, then led them to the prompter's
box and said:
"Stay here; you're to go on the stage when you're called."
The children waited quietly for half an hour; but they were tired by
that time; they thought that they had been forgotten; and as they could
enjoy themselves much more in the garden than under the stage, they
left their bouquets there and went outside to play. In running about
they approached the house, and saw on the ground floor, in a
well-lighted room, a sideboard covered with innumerable delicacies, the
bare sight of which made them open their mouths and lick their chops.
They stopped, sighed, nudged each other, divined each other's thought,
and looked behind them in obedience to the natural instinct of the man
who is about to do wrong. There was no one in sight; all the servants
had deserted the house for the play.
"Oh! see the nice things, brother!" said the smaller of the two; "we
never saw anything like 'em!"
"Oh! Fanfan, mustn't that be sweet?"
"Say, Jean; just think--if we could eat some of it!"
"Look at them cakes!"
"There's no one there; let's climb in! Come on!"
They easily climbed in the ground-floor window; they ran to the
sideboard, stuffed their mouths full, made aprons of their tunics, and
filled them with fruit, meats, and cakes; lapped the cream that they
could not carry away; dug their fingers into jars of preserves, and took
refuge finally in the attic, to eat at their ease what they had filched.
While the little peasants were regaling themselves, Raymond was scouring
the whole estate to find his Cupids. As he came out of the theatre,
after a vain search, he met Monsieur de Marsan, who was looking for his
wife, the company being surprised at her continued absence.
"Have you found them?" inquired Raymond.
"I don't know where she is; people are asking for her; ordinarily, I am
not called upon to interfere in anything."
"Whom are you talking about?"
"My wife, who is not here to do the honors of the fête."
"Parbleu! Madame de Marsan can't be lost; she'll turn up; but my two
Cupids--I am more anxious about them; for I must give them back to their
mother, who is not Venus; and she'll break one of her little pitchers
over my head if her brats are not found. Let us search the gardens
together; the little rascals must be somewhere here."
Monsieur de Marsan followed Raymond, hoping to find his wife rather than
the two little fugitives. They walked through part of the garden, and
Monsieur de Marsan proposed to return to his guests, feeling sure that
his wife must be with them; but Raymond detained him, telling him that
he, Marsan, was responsible for the Cupids, as they were lost on his
premises. They drew near the swing, which was close to the clump of
trees where I was playing my scene with Madame de Marsan.
"They are over in this direction," said Raymond; "I hear the swing
moving; I was sure that my little blackguards were amusing themselves."
They reached the swing, but saw nothing.
"There's no one here, you see," said Monsieur de Marsan.
"It's strange," said Raymond; "I still hear the same noise. Why--it's in
this direction--in the thicket! What the devil are they doing there?"
Monsieur de Marsan went forward; Raymond followed him. The moon at that
moment was much too bright! we were petrified.
"It's Almaviva and Rosine!" said Raymond, jumping back. Monsieur de
Marsan alone retained his presence of mind.
"Madame," he said, calmly addressing his wife, "your guests are asking
for you; you are needed for the festivities; you must try to arrange
your business and your pleasures so that they will not interfere with
each other."
With that, he coolly turned on his heel and returned to the house.
Madame de Marsan had fainted; Raymond stood like a statue. I rushed from
the thicket, pushing him roughly aside, in an instant was at the
courtyard, then on the Paris road, and reached the capital at two in the
morning.