a scabby lot, always mixed up in some dirty business or other! Oh,
they'd be delighted if I were to come to smash. But I beg pardon--
I'm getting beside myself."
He ceased speaking, and silence reigned while Muffat sought how to
broach his announcement gently. But he failed and, in order to get
out of his difficulty the more quickly, ended by an abrupt
announcement:
"Nana wants the duchess's part."
Bordenave gave a start and shouted:
"Come now, it's sheer madness!"
Then looking at the count and finding him so pale and so shaken, he
was calm at once.
"Devil take it!" he said simply.
And with that there ensued a fresh silence. At bottom he didn't
care a pin about it. That great thing Nana playing the duchess
might possibly prove amusing! Besides, now that this had happened
he had Muffat well in his grasp. Accordingly he was not long in
coming to a decision, and so he turned round and called out:
"Fauchery!"
The count had been on the point of stopping him. But Fauchery did
not hear him, for he had been pinned against the curtain by Fontan
and was being compelled to listen patiently to the comedian's
reading of the part of Tardiveau. Fontan imagined Tardiveau to be a
native of Marseilles with a dialect, and he imitated the dialect.
He was repeating whole speeches. Was that right? Was this the
thing? Apparently he was only submitting ideas to Fauchery of which
he was himself uncertain, but as the author seemed cold and raised
various objections, he grew angry at once.
Oh, very well, the moment the spirit of the part escaped him it
would be better for all concerned that he shouldn't act it at all!
"Fauchery!" shouted Bordenave once more.
Thereupon the young man ran off, delighted to escape from the actor,
who was wounded not a little by his prompt retreat.
"Don't let's stay here," continued Bordenave. "Come this way,
gentlemen."
In order to escape from curious listeners he led them into the
property room behind the scenes, while Mignon watched their
disappearance in some surprise. They went down a few steps and
entered a square room, whose two windows opened upon the courtyard.
A faint light stole through the dirty panes and hung wanly under the
low ceiling. In pigeonholes and shelves, which filled the whole
place up, lay a collection of the most varied kind of bric-a-brac.
Indeed, it suggested an old-clothes shop in the Rue de Lappe in
process of selling off, so indescribable was the hotchpotch of
plates, gilt pasteboard cups, old red umbrellas, Italian jars,
clocks in all styles, platters and inkpots, firearms and squirts,
which lay chipped and broken and in unrecognizable heaps under a
layer of dust an inch deep. An unendurable odor of old iron, rags
and damp cardboard emanated from the various piles, where the debris
of forgotten dramas had been collecting for half a century.
"Come in," Bordenave repeated. "We shall be alone, at any rate."
The count was extremely embarrassed, and he contrived to let the
manager risk his proposal for him. Fauchery was astonished.
"Eh? What?" he asked.
"Just this," said Bordenave finally. "An idea has occurred to us.
Now whatever you do, don't jump! It's most serious. What do you
think of Nana for the duchess's part?"
The author was bewildered; then he burst out with:
"Ah no, no! You're joking, aren't you? People would laugh far too
much."
"Well, and it's a point gained already if they do laugh! Just
reflect, my dear boy. The idea pleases Monsieur le Comte very
much."
In order to keep himself in countenance Muffat had just picked out
of the dust on a neighboring shelf an object which he did not seem
to recognize. It was an eggcup, and its stem had been mended with
plaster. He kept hold of it unconsciously and came forward,
muttering:
"Yes, yes, it would be capital."
Fauchery turned toward him with a brisk, impatient gesture. The
count had nothing to do with his piece, and he said decisively:
"Never! Let Nana play the courtesan as much as she likes, but a
lady--No, by Jove!"
"You are mistaken, I assure you," rejoined the count, growing
bolder. "This very minute she has been playing the part of a pure
woman for my benefit."
"Where?" queried Fauchery with growing surprise.
"Upstairs in a dressing room. Yes, she has, indeed, and with such
distinction! She's got a way of glancing at you as she goes by you--
something like this, you know!"
And eggcup in hand, he endeavored to imitate Nana, quite forgetting
his dignity in his frantic desire to convince the others. Fauchery
gazed at him in a state of stupefaction. He understood it all now,
and his anger had ceased. The count felt that he was looking at him
mockingly and pityingly, and he paused with a slight blush on his
face.
"Egad, it's quite possible!" muttered the author complaisantly.
"Perhaps she would do very well, only the part's been assigned. We
can't take it away from Rose."
"Oh, if that's all the trouble," said Bordenave, "I'll undertake to
arrange matters."
But presently, seeing them both against him and guessing that
Bordenave had some secret interest at stake, the young man thought
to avoid aquiescence by redoubling the violence of his refusal. The
consultation was on the verge of being broken up.
"Oh, dear! No, no! Even if the part were unassigned I should never
give it her! There, is that plain? Do let me alone; I have no wish
to ruin my play!"
He lapsed into silent embarrassment. Bordenave, deeming himself DE
TROP, went away, but the count remained with bowed head. He raised
it with an effort and said in a breaking voice:
"Supposing, my dear fellow, I were to ask this of you as a favor?"
"I cannot, I cannot," Fauchery kept repeating as he writhed to get
free.
Muffat's voice became harder.
"I pray and beseech you for it! I want it!"
And with that he fixed his eyes on him. The young man read menaces
in that darkling gaze and suddenly gave way with a splutter of
confused phrases:
"Do what you like--I don't care a pin about it. Yes, yes, you're
abusing your power, but you'll see, you'll see!"
At this the embarrassment of both increased. Fauchery was leaning
up against a set of shelves and was tapping nervously on the ground
with his foot. Muffat seemed busy examining the eggcup, which he
was still turning round and about.
"It's an eggcup," Bordenave obligingly came and remarked.
"Yes, to be sure! It's an eggeup," the count repeated.
"Excuse me, you're covered with dust," continued the manager,
putting the thing back on a shelf. "If one had to dust every day
there'd be no end to it, you understand. But it's hardly clean
here--a filthy mess, eh? Yet you may believe me or not when I tell
you there's money in it. Now look, just look at all that!"
He walked Muffat round in front of the pigeonholes and shelves and
in the greenish light which filtered through the courtyard, told him
the names of different properties, for he was anxious to interest
him in his marine-stores inventory, as he jocosely termed it.
Presently, when they had returned into Fauchery's neighborhood, he
said carelessly enough:
"Listen, since we're all of one mind, we'll finish the matter at
once. Here's Mignon, just when he's wanted."
For some little time past Mignon had been prowling in the adjoining
passage, and the very moment Bordenave began talking of a
modification of their agreement he burst into wrathful protest. It
was infamous--they wanted to spoil his wife's career--he'd go to law
about it! Bordenave, meanwhile, was extremely calm and full of
reasons. He did not think the part worthy of Rose, and he preferred
to reserve her for an operetta, which was to be put on after the
Petite Duchesse. But when her husband still continued shouting he
suddenly offered to cancel their arrangement in view of the offers
which the Folies-Dramatiques had been making the singer. At this
Mignon was momenrarily put out, so without denying the truth of
these offers he loudly professed a vast disdain for money. His
wife, he said, had been engaged to play the Duchess Helene, and she
would play the part even if he, Mignon, were to be ruined over it.
His dignity, his honor, were at stake! Starting from this basis,
the discussion grew interminable. The manager, however, always
returned to the following argument: since the Folies had offered
Rose three hundred francs a night during a hundred performances, and
since she only made a hundred and fifty with him, she would be the
gainer by fifteen thousand francs the moment he let her depart. The
husband, on his part, did not desert the artist's position. What
would people say if they saw his wife deprived of her part? Why,
that she was not equal to it; that it had been deemed necessary to
find a substitute for her! And this would do great harm to Rose's
reputation as an artist; nay, it would diminish it. Oh no, no!
Glory before gain! Then without a word of warning he pointed out a
possible arrangement: Rose, according to the terms of her agreement,
was pledged to pay a forfeit of ten thousand francs in case she gave
up the part. Very well then, let them give her ten thousand francs,
and she would go to the Folies-Dramatiques. Bordenave was utterly
dumfounded while Mignon, who had never once taken his eyes off the
count, tranquilly awaited results.
"Then everything can be settled," murmured Muffat in tones of
relief; "we can come to an understanding."
"The deuce, no! That would be too stupid!" cried Bordenave,
mastered by his commercial instincts. "Ten thousand francs to let
Rose go! Why, people would make game of me!"
But the count, with a multiplicity of nods, bade him accept. He
hesitated, and at last with much grumbling and infinite regret over
the ten thousand francs which, by the by, were not destined to come
out of his own pocket he bluntly continued:
"After all, I consent. At any rate, I shall have you off my hands."
For a quarter of an hour past Fontan had been listening in the
courtyard. Such had been his curiosity that he had come down and
posted himself there, but the moment he understood the state of the
case he went upstairs again and enjoyed the treat of telling Rose.
Dear me! They were just haggling in her behalf! He dinned his
words into her ears; she ran off to the property room. They were
silent as she entered. She looked at the four men. Muffat hung his
head; Fauchery answered her questioning glance with a despairing
shrug of the shoulders; as to Mignon, he was busy discussing the
terms of the agreement with Bordenave.
"What's up?" she demanded curtly.
"Nothing," said her husband. "Bordenave here is giving ten thousand
francs in order to get you to give up your part."
She grew tremulous with anger and very pale, and she clenched her
little fists. For some moments she stared at him, her whole nature
in revolt. Ordinarily in matters of business she was wont to trust
everything obediently to her husband, leaving him to sign agreements
with managers and lovers. Now she could but cry:
"Oh, come, you're too base for anything!"
The words fell like a lash. Then she sped away, and Mignon, in
utter astonishment, ran after her. What next? Was she going mad?
He began explaining to her in low tones that ten thousand francs
from one party and fifteen thousand from the other came to twenty-
five thousand. A splendid deal! Muffat was getting rid of her in
every sense of the word; it was a pretty trick to have plucked him
of this last feather! But Rose in her anger vouchsafed no answer.
Whereupon Mignon in disdain left her to her feminine spite and,
turning to Bordenave, who was once more on the stage with Fauchery
and Muffat, said:
"We'll sign tomorrow morning. Have the money in readiness."
At this moment Nana, to whom Labordette had brought the news, came
down to the stage in triumph. She was quite the honest woman now
and wore a most distinguished expression in order to overwhelm her
friends and prove to the idiots that when she chose she could give
them all points in the matter of smartness. But she nearly got into
trouble, for at the sight of her Rose darted forward, choking with
rage and stuttering:
"Yes, you, I'll pay you out! Things can't go on like this; d'you
understand?" Nana forgot herself in face of this brisk attack and
was going to put her arms akimbo and give her what for. But she
controlled herself and, looking like a marquise who is afraid of
treading on an orange peel, fluted in still more silvery tones.
"Eh, what?" said she. "You're mad, my dear!"
And with that she continued in her graceful affectation while Rose
took her departure, followed by Mignon, who now refused to recognize
her. Clarisse was enraptured, having just obtained the part of
Geraldine from Bordenave. Fauchery, on the other hand, was gloomy;
he shifted from one foot to the other; he could not decide whether
to leave the theater or no. His piece was bedeviled, and he was
seeking how best to save it. But Nana came up, took him by both
hands and, drawing him toward her, asked whether he thought her so
very atrocious after all. She wasn't going to eat his play--not
she! Then she made him laugh and gave him to understand that he
