Camille soon wearied of the opera. All--actors, musicians,
audience--seemed to say to her:--"We speak, and you cannot; we hear,
laugh, sing, rejoice. You rejoice in nothing, hear nothing. You are only
a statue, the simulacrum of a being, a mere looker-on at life."
When, to exclude the mocking spectacle, she closed her eyes, the scenes
of her early life rose before the eyes of her mind. She returned in
thought to her country home, saw again her mother's dear face. It was
too much! Uncle Giraud observed, with much concern, tears rolling down
her cheeks. When he would have inquired the cause of her grief, she made
signs that she wished to leave. She rose, and opened the door of the
box.
Just at this moment, something attracted her attention. She caught sight
of a good-looking, richly-dressed young man, who was tracing letters and
figures with a white pencil upon a small slate. He exhibited this slate
now and then to his neighbour, a man older than himself, who evidently
understood him at once, and promptly replied in the same manner. At the
same time the two exchanged signs.
[Illustration: "SHE LEANED OVER THE EDGE OF THE BOX."]
Camille's curiosity and interest were deeply stirred. She had already
observed that this young man's lips did not move. She now saw that he
spoke a language which was not the language of others, that he had found
some means of expressing himself without the aid of speech--that art for
her so incomprehensible and impossible. An irresistible longing to see
more seized her. She leaned over the edge of the box, and watched the
stranger's movements attentively. When he again wrote something upon his
slate, and passed it to his companion, she made an involuntary gesture
as if to take it. Whereupon the young man, in his turn, looked at
Camille. Their eyes met, and said the same thing, "We two are in like
case; we are both dumb."
Uncle Giraud brought his niece's wrap, but she no longer wished to go.
She had reseated herself, and was leaning eagerly forward.
The Abbé de l'Epée was then just becoming known. Touched with pity for
the deaf and dumb, this good man had invented a language that he deemed
superior to that of Leibnitz. He restored deaf mutes to the ranks of
their fellows by teaching them to read and write. Alone and unaided he
laboured for his afflicted fellow-creatures, prepared to sacrifice to
their welfare his life and fortune.
The young man observed by Camille was one of the Abbé's first pupils. He
was the son of the Marquis de Maubray.