CHAPTER IV. MADEMOISELLE LANGE
The green-room was crowded when de Batz and St. Just arrived there afterthe performance. The older man cast a hasty glance through the opendoor. The crowd did not suit his purpose, and he dragged his companionhurriedly away from the contemplation of Mlle. Lange, sitting in a farcorner of the room, surrounded by an admiring throng, and by innumerablefloral tributes offered to her beauty and to her success.
De Batz without a word led the way back towards the stage. Here, by thedim light of tallow candles fixed in sconces against the surroundingwalls, the scene-shifters were busy moving drop-scenes, back cloths andwings, and paid no heed to the two men who strolled slowly up and downsilently, each wrapped in his own thoughts.
Armand walked with his hands buried in his breeches pockets, his headbent forward on his chest; but every now and again he threw quick,apprehensive glances round him whenever a firm step echoed along theempty stage or a voice rang clearly through the now deserted theatre.
"Are we wise to wait here?" he asked, speaking to himself rather than tohis companion.
He was not anxious about his own safety; but the words of de Batz hadimpressed themselves upon his mind: "Heron and his spies we have alwayswith us."
From the green-room a separate foyer and exit led directly out intothe street. Gradually the sound of many voices, the loud laughter andoccasional snatches of song which for the past half-hour had proceededfrom that part of the house, became more subdued and more rare. One byone the friends of the artists were leaving the theatre, after havingpaid the usual banal compliments to those whom they favoured, orpresented the accustomed offering of flowers to the brightest star ofthe night.
The actors were the first to retire, then the older actresses, the oneswho could no longer command a court of admirers round them. They allfiled out of the greenroom and crossed the stage to where, at theback, a narrow, rickety wooden stairs led to their so-calleddressing-rooms--tiny, dark cubicles, ill-lighted, unventilated, wheresome half-dozen of the lesser stars tumbled over one another whileremoving wigs and grease-paint.
Armand and de Batz watched this exodus, both with equal impatience.Mlle. Lange was the last to leave the green-room. For some time, sincethe crowd had become thinner round her, Armand had contrived to catchglimpses of her slight, elegant figure. A short passage led from thestage to the green-room door, which was wide open, and at the cornerof this passage the young man had paused from time to time in his walk,gazing with earnest admiration at the dainty outline of the young girl'shead, with its wig of powdered curls that seemed scarcely whiter thanthe creamy brilliance of her skin.
De Batz did not watch Mlle. Lange beyond casting impatient looks in thedirection of the crowd that prevented her leaving the green-room. Hedid watch Armand, however--noted his eager look, his brisk and alertmovements, the obvious glances of admiration which he cast in thedirection of the young actress, and this seemed to afford him aconsiderable amount of contentment.
The best part of an hour had gone by since the fall of the curtainbefore Mlle. Lange finally dismissed her many admirers, and de Batz hadthe satisfaction of seeing her running down the passage, turning backoccasionally in order to bid gay "good-nights" to the loiterers whowere loath to part from her. She was a child in all her movements, quiteunconscious of self or of her own charms, but frankly delighted withher success. She was still dressed in the ridiculous hoops and pannierspertaining to her part, and the powdered peruke hid the charm of herown hair; the costume gave a certain stilted air to her unaffectedpersonality, which, by this very sense of contrast, was essentiallyfascinating.
In her arms she held a huge sheaf of sweet-scented narcissi, the spoilsof some favoured spot far away in the South. Armand thought that neverin his life had he seen anything so winsome or so charming.
Having at last said the positively final adieu, Mlle. Lange with a happylittle sigh turned to run down the passage.
She came face to face with Armand, and gave a sudden little gasp ofterror. It was not good these days to come on any loiterer unawares.
But already de Batz had quickly joined his friend, and his smooth,pleasant voice, and podgy, beringed hand extended towards Mlle. Lange,were sufficient to reassure her.
"You were so surrounded in the green-room, mademoiselle," he saidcourteously, "I did not venture to press in among the crowd ofyour admirers. Yet I had the great wish to present my respectfulcongratulations in person."
"Ah! c'est ce cher de Batz!" exclaimed mademoiselle gaily, in thatexquisitely rippling voice of hers. "And where in the world do youspring from, my friend?
"Hush-sh-sh!" he whispered, holding her small bemittened hand inhis, and putting one finger to his lips with an urgent entreaty fordiscretion; "not my name, I beg of you, fair one."
"Bah!" she retorted lightly, even though her full lips trembled now asshe spoke and belied her very words. "You need have no fear whilstyou are in this part of the house. It is an understood thing that theCommittee of General Security does not send its spies behind the curtainof a theatre. Why, if all of us actors and actresses were sent tothe guillotine there would be no play on the morrow. Artistes are notreplaceable in a few hours; those that are in existence must perforce bespared, or the citizens who govern us now would not know where to spendtheir evenings."
But though she spoke so airily and with her accustomed gaiety, it waseasily perceived that even on this childish mind the dangers which besetevery one these days had already imprinted their mark of suspicion andof caution.
"Come into my dressing-room," she said. "I must not tarry here anylonger, for they will be putting out the lights. But I have a room tomyself, and we can talk there quite agreeably."
She led the way across the stage towards the wooden stairs. Armand, whoduring this brief colloquy between his friend and the young girl hadkept discreetly in the background, felt undecided what to do. But ata peremptory sign from de Batz he, too, turned in the wake of the gaylittle lady, who ran swiftly up the rickety steps, humming snatches ofpopular songs the while, and not turning to see if indeed the two menwere following her.
She had the sheaf of narcissi still in her arms, and the door of hertiny dressing-room being open, she ran straight in and threw the flowersdown in a confused, sweet-scented mass upon the small table thatstood at one end of the room, littered with pots and bottles, letters,mirrors, powder-puffs, silk stockings, and cambric handkerchiefs.
Then she turned and faced the two men, a merry look of unalterablegaiety dancing in her eyes.
"Shut the door, mon ami," she said to de Batz, "and after that sit downwhere you can, so long as it is not on my most precious pot of unguentor a box of costliest powder."
While de Batz did as he was told, she turned to Armand and said with apretty tone of interrogation in her melodious voice:
"Monsieur?"
"St. Just, at your service, mademoiselle," said Armand, bowing very lowin the most approved style obtaining at the English Court.
"St. Just?" she repeated, a look of puzzlement in her brown eyes."Surely--"
"A kinsman of citizen St. Just, whom no doubt you know, mademoiselle,"he exclaimed.
"My friend Armand St. Just," interposed de Batz, "is practically anew-comer in Paris. He lives in England habitually."
"In England?" she exclaimed. "Oh! do tell me all about England. I wouldlove to go there. Perhaps I may have to go some day. Oh! do sit down, deBatz," she continued, talking rather volubly, even as a delicate blushheightened the colour in her cheeks under the look of obvious admirationfrom Armand St. Just's expressive eyes.
She swept a handful of delicate cambric and silk from off a chair,making room for de Batz' portly figure. Then she sat upon the sofa, andwith an inviting gesture and a call from the eyes she bade Armand sitdown next to her. She leaned back against the cushions, and the tablebeing close by, she stretched out a hand and once more took up the bunchof narcissi, and while she talked to Armand she held the snow-whiteblooms quite close to her face--so close
, in fact, that he could notsee her mouth and chin, only her dark eyes shone across at him over theheads of the blossoms.
"Tell me all about England," she reiterated, settling herself down amongthe cushions like a spoilt child who is about to listen to an oft-toldfavourite story.
Armand was vexed that de Batz was sitting there. He felt he could havetold this dainty little lady quite a good deal about England if only hispompous, fat friend would have had the good sense to go away.
As it was, he felt unusually timid and gauche, not quite knowing what tosay, a fact which seemed to amuse Mlle. Lange not a little.
"I am very fond of England," he said lamely; "my sister is married to anEnglishman, and I myself have taken up my permanent residence there."
"Among the society of emigres?" she queried.
Then, as Armand made no reply, de Batz interposed quickly:
"Oh! you need not fear to admit it, my good Armand; Mademoiselle Lange,has many friends among the emigres--have you not, mademoiselle?"
"Yes, of course," she replied lightly; "I have friends everywhere. Theirpolitical views have nothing to do with me. Artistes, I think, shouldhave naught to do with politics. You see, citizen St. Just, I neverinquired of you what were your views. Your name and kinship wouldproclaim you a partisan of citizen Robespierre, yet I find you in thecompany of M. de Batz; and you tell me that you live in England."
"He is no partisan of citizen Robespierre," again interposed de Batz;"in fact, mademoiselle, I may safely tell you, I think, that my friendhas but one ideal on this earth, whom he has set up in a shrine, andwhom he worships with all the ardour of a Christian for his God."
"How romantic!" she said, and she looked straight at Armand. "Tell me,monsieur, is your ideal a woman or a man?"
His look answered her, even before he boldly spoke the two words:
"A woman."
She took a deep draught of sweet, intoxicating scent from the narcissi,and his gaze once more brought blushes to her cheeks. De Batz'good-humoured laugh helped her to hide this unwonted access ofconfusion.
"That was well turned, friend Armand," he said lightly; "but I assureyou, mademoiselle, that before I brought him here to-night his ideal wasa man."
"A man!" she exclaimed, with a contemptuous little pout. "Who was it?"
"I know no other name for him but that of a small, insignificantflower--the Scarlet Pimpernel," replied de Batz.
"The Scarlet Pimpernel!" she ejaculated, dropping the flowers suddenly,and gazing on Armand with wide, wondering eyes. "And do you know him,monsieur?"
He was frowning despite himself, despite the delight which he felt atsitting so close to this charming little lady, and feeling that in ameasure his presence and his personality interested her. But he feltirritated with de Batz, and angered at what he considered the latter'sindiscretion. To him the very name of his leader was almost a sacredone; he was one of those enthusiastic devotees who only care to name theidol of their dreams with bated breath, and only in the ears of thosewho would understand and sympathise.
Again he felt that if only he could have been alone with mademoiselle hecould have told her all about the Scarlet Pimpernel, knowing that in herhe would find a ready listener, a helping and a loving heart; but as itwas he merely replied tamely enough:
"Yes, mademoiselle, I do know him."
"You have seen him?" she queried eagerly; "spoken to him?"
"Yes."
"Oh! do tell me all about him. You know quite a number of us in Francehave the greatest possible admiration for your national hero. We know,of course, that he is an enemy of our Government--but, oh! we feel thathe is not an enemy of France because of that. We are a nation of heroes,too, monsieur," she added with a pretty, proud toss of the head; "we canappreciate bravery and resource, and we love the mystery that surroundsthe personality of your Scarlet Pimpernel. But since you know him,monsieur, tell me what is he like?"
Armand was smiling again. He was yielding himself up wholly to the charmwhich emanated from this young girl's entire being, from her gaietyand her unaffectedness, her enthusiasm, and that obvious artistictemperament which caused her to feel every sensation with superlativekeenness and thoroughness.
"What is he like?" she insisted.
"That, mademoiselle," he replied, "I am not at liberty to tell you."
"Not at liberty to tell me!" she exclaimed; "but monsieur, if I commandyou--"
"At risk of falling forever under the ban of your displeasure,mademoiselle, I would still remain silent on that subject."
She gazed on him with obvious astonishment. It was quite an unusualthing for this spoilt darling of an admiring public to be thus openlythwarted in her whims.
"How tiresome and pedantic!" she said, with a shrug of her prettyshoulders and a moue of discontent. "And, oh! how ungallant! You havelearnt ugly, English ways, monsieur; for there, I am told, men holdtheir womenkind in very scant esteem. There!" she added, turning witha mock air of hopelessness towards de Batz, "am I not a most unluckywoman? For the past two years I have used my best endeavours to catchsight of that interesting Scarlet Pimpernel; here do I meet monsieur,who actually knows him (so he says), and he is so ungallant that he evenrefuses to satisfy the first cravings of my just curiosity."
"Citizen St. Just will tell you nothing now, mademoiselle," rejoinedde Batz with his good-humoured laugh; "it is my presence, I assure you,which is setting a seal upon his lips. He is, believe me, aching toconfide in you, to share in your enthusiasm, and to see your beautifuleyes glowing in response to his ardour when he describes to you theexploits of that prince of heroes. En tete-a-tete one day, you will, Iknow, worm every secret out of my discreet friend Armand."
Mademoiselle made no comment on this--that is to say, no audiblecomment--but she buried the whole of her face for a few seconds amongthe flowers, and Armand from amongst those flowers caught sight of apair of very bright brown eyes which shone on him with a puzzled look.
She said nothing more about the Scarlet Pimpernel or about England justthen, but after awhile she began talking of more indifferent subjects:the state of the weather, the price of food, the discomforts of her ownhouse, now that the servants had been put on perfect equality with theirmasters.
Armand soon gathered that the burning questions of the day, the horrorsof massacres, the raging turmoil of politics, had not affected her verydeeply as yet. She had not troubled her pretty head very much about thesocial and humanitarian aspect of the present seething revolution.She did not really wish to think about it at all. An artiste to herfinger-tips, she was spending her young life in earnest work, strivingto attain perfection in her art, absorbed in study during the day, andin the expression of what she had learnt in the evenings.
The terrors of the guillotine affected her a little, but somewhatvaguely still. She had not realised that any dangers could assail herwhilst she worked for the artistic delectation of the public.
It was not that she did not understand what went on around her, but thather artistic temperament and her environment had kept her aloof fromit all. The horrors of the Place de la Revolution made her shudder, butonly in the same way as the tragedies of M. Racine or of Sophocles whichshe had studied caused her to shudder, and she had exactly the samesympathy for poor Queen Marie Antoinette as she had for Mary Stuart, andshed as many tears for King Louis as she did for Polyeucte.
Once de Batz mentioned the Dauphin, but mademoiselle put up her handquickly and said in a trembling voice, whilst the tears gathered in hereyes:
"Do not speak of the child to me, de Batz. What can I, a lonely,hard-working woman, do to help him? I try not to think of him, for ifI did, knowing my own helplessness, I feel that I could hate mycountrymen, and speak my bitter hatred of them across the footlights;which would be more than foolish," she added naively, "for it would nothelp the child, and I should be sent to the guillotine. But oh sometimesI feel that I would gladly die if only that poor little child-martyrwere restored to those who love him and given back once more to j
oy andhappiness. But they would not take my life for his, I am afraid,"she concluded, smiling through her tears. "My life is of no value incomparison with his."
Soon after this she dismissed her two visitors. De Batz, well contentwith the result of this evening's entertainment, wore an urbane, blandsmile on his rubicund face. Armand, somewhat serious and not a little inlove, made the hand-kiss with which he took his leave last as long as hecould.
"You will come and see me again, citizen St. Just?" she asked after thatpreliminary leave-taking.
"At your service, mademoiselle," he replied with alacrity.
"How long do you stay in Paris?"
"I may be called away at any time."
"Well, then, come to-morrow. I shall be free towards four o'clock.Square du Roule. You cannot miss the house. Any one there will tell youwhere lives citizeness Lange."
"At your service, mademoiselle," he replied.
The words sounded empty and meaningless, but his eyes, as they tookfinal leave of her, spoke the gratitude and the joy which he felt.