It might too soon be struck out for ever, and by me.
"Don't say 'bothered'!" I reproached him. "That's a cruel word. The
question is--I'm worn out. I don't think I shall be able to eat supper.
My maid will want to put me to bed, the minute I get home. Poor old
Marianne! She's such a tyrant, when she fancies it's for my good. It,
generally ends in my obeying her--seldom in her obeying me. But we'll
see how I feel when the last act's over. We'll talk of it when you come
here--after my death." I tried to laugh, as I made that wretched jest,
but I was sorry when I made it, and my laugh didn't ring true. There was
a shadow on Raoul's face--that dear, sensitive face of his which shows
too much feeling for a man in this work-a-day, strenuous world--but I
had little time to comfort him.
"It will be like coming to life again, to see you," I said. "And now,
good-bye! no, not good-bye, but _au revoir_."
I sent him away, and flew into my dressing-room next door, where
Marianne was growing very nervous, and aimlessly shifting my make-up
things on the dressing table, or fussing with some part of my dress for
the next act.
"There's a letter for you, Mademoiselle," said she.
Pages:
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145