but I shall see your drawers."

"You would have some difficulty in doing that," said the first actor,
"she doesn't wear any."

"So much the better."

"You know nothing about it," said the actress.

These remarks put us all in high spirits, and the ministers of Thalia
ended by promising that they would dispense with a prompter. I was
pleased with the way the piece was read, and they said they would be
letter-perfect in three days. But something happened.

On the day fixed for the rehearsal they came without the Lindane and
Murray. They were not well, but Rossi said they would not fail us
eventually. I took the part of Murray, and asked Rosalie to be the
Lindane.

"I don't read Italian well enough," she whispered, "and I don't wish to
have the actors laughing at me; but Veronique could do it."

"Ask if she will read the part."

However, Veronique said that she could repeat it by heart.

"All the better," said I to her, laughing internally, as I thought of
Soleure, for I saw that I should thus be obliged to make love to the girl
to whom I had not spoken for the fortnight she had been with us. I had
not even had a good look at her face. I was so afraid of Rosalie (whom I
loved better every day) taking fright.

What I had feared happened. When I took Veronique's hand, and said, "Si,
bella Lindana, debbe adorarvi!" everybody clapped, because I gave the
words their proper expression; but glancing at Rosalie I saw a shadow on
her face, and I was angry at not having controlled myself better.
Nevertheless, I could not help feeling amazed at the way Veronique played
the part. When I told her that I adored her she blushed up to her eyes;
she could not have played the love-sick girl better.

We fixed a day for the dress-rehearsal at the theatre, and the company
announced the first night a week in advance to excite public curiosity.
The bills ran:

"We shall give Voltaire's Ecossaise, translated by an anonymous author:
no prompter will be present."

I cannot give the reader any idea of the trouble I had to quiet Rosalie.
She refused to be comforted; wept incessantly, and touched my heart by
gentle reproaches.

"You love Veronique," said she, "and you only translated that piece to
have an opportunity of declaring your love."

I succeeded in convincing her that she wronged me, and at last after I
had lavished caresses on her she suffered herself to be calmed. Next
morning she begged pardon for her jealousy, and to c