ay you must."

"But how, M. Paul? What do you mean?"

"There is no time to be lost," he went on, now speaking in French; "and
let us thrust to the wall all reluctance, all excuses, all minauderies.
You must take a part."

"In the vaudeville?"

"In the vaudeville. You have said it."

I gasped, horror-struck. _What_ did the little man mean?

"Listen!" he said. "The case shall be stated, and you shall then answer
me Yes, or No; and according to your answer shall I ever after estimate
you."

The scarce-suppressed impetus of a most irritable nature glowed in his
cheek, fed with sharp shafts his glances, a nature--the injudicious,
the mawkish, the hesitating, the sullen, the affected, above all, the
unyielding, might quickly render violent and implacable. Silence and
attention was the best balm to apply: I listened.

"The whole matter is going to fail," he began. "Louise Vanderkelkov has
fallen ill--at least so her ridiculous mother asserts; for my part, I
feel sure she might play if she would: it is only good-will that lacks.
She was charged with a _role_, as you know, or do _not_ know--it is
equal: without that _role_ the play is stopped. There are now but a few
hours in which to learn it: not a girl in this school would hear
reason, and accept the task. Forsooth, it is not an interesting, not an
amiable, part; their vile _amour-propre_--that base quality of which
women have so much--would revolt from it. Englishwomen are either the
best or the worst of their sex. Dieu sait que je les deteste comme la
peste, ordinairement" (this between his recreant teeth). "I apply to an
Englishwoman to rescue me. What is her answer--Yes, or No?"

A thousand objections rushed into my mind. The foreign language, the
limited time, the public display... Inclination recoiled, Ability
faltered, Self-respect (that "vile quality") trembled. "Non, non, non!"
said all these; but looking up at M. Paul, and seeing in his vexed,
fiery, and searching eye, a sort of appeal behind all its menace, my
lips dropped the word "oui". For a moment his rigid countenance relaxed
with a quiver of content: quickly bent up again, however, he went on,--

"Vite a l'ouvrage! Here is the book; here is your _role_: read." And I
read. He did not commend; at some passages he scowled and stamped. He
gave me a lesson: I diligently imitated. It was a disagreeable part--a
man's--an empty-headed fop's. One could put into it neither heart nor
soul: I hated it. The pl