Écoutez Bajazet, je sens que je vous aime.{*}* “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 Iammistaken,” 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.”