t natural that the
private catastrophe in which he had become involved should be merged
into a public disaster and that this same night should be for a whole
population, as for him! a night of sinister happenings.

Being extremely hungry, he took a cab at the barrier, and had himself
driven to a restaurant in the Rue Royale. In the bright, warm room he
was conscious of a sense of well-being. After ordering his meal, he
opened an evening newspaper and saw, in the Parliamentary report, that
his Minister had delivered a speech. On reading it, he smothered a
slight laugh; he remembered certain stories told at the Quai d'Orsay.
The Minister of Foreign Affairs was enamoured of Madame de Neuilles, an
elderly lady with a lurid past, whom public rumour had raised to the
status of adventuress and spy. He was wont, it was whispered, to try on
her the speeches which he was to deliver in the Chamber. Ligny, who had
formerly been to a certain small extent the lover of Madame de Neuilles,
pictured to himself the statesman in his shirt reciting to his lady-love
the following statement of principles: "Far be it from me to disregard
the legitimate susceptibilities of the national sentiment. Resolutely
pacific, but jealous of France's honour, the Government will, etc." This
vision put him in a merry mood. He turned the page, and read: To-morrow
at the Odeon, first performance (in this theatre) of _La Nuit du 23
octobre 1812_ with Messieurs Durville, Maury, Romilly, Destree, Vicar,
Leon Clim, Valroche, Aman, Chevalier....

CHAPTER VIII

At one o'clock on the following day _La Grille_ was in rehearsal, for
the first time, in the green-room of the theatre. A dismal light spread
like a pall over the grey stones of the roof, the galleries, and the
columns. In the depressing majesty of this pallid architecture, beneath
the statue of Racine, the leading actors were reading before Pradel, the
manager of the house, their parts, which they did not yet know. Romilly,
the stage manager, and Constantine Marc, the author of the piece, were
all three seated on a red velvet sofa, while, from a bench set back
between two columns, was exhaled the vigilant hatred and whispered
jealousy of the actresses left out of the cast.

The lover, Paul Delage, was with difficulty deciphering a speech:

"'I recognize the chateau with its brick walls, its slated roof; the
park, where I have so often entwined her initials and mine on the bark
of the trees; th