u will not marvel that what I have seen of
yourself and your distinguished troupe should inspire me to desire your
better acquaintance. On your side you tell me that you are in need of
some one to replace your Figaro--your Felicien, I think you called him.
Whilst it may be presumptuous of me to hope that I could discharge an
office so varied and so onerous..."

"You are indulging that acrid humour of yours again, my friend," Binet
interrupted him. "Excepting for that," he added, slowly, meditatively,
his little eyes screwed up, "we might discuss this proposal that you
seem to be making."

"Alas! we can except nothing. If you take me, you take me as I am. What
else is possible? As for this humour--such as it is--which you decry, you
might turn it to profitable account."

"How so?"

"In several ways. I might, for instance, teach Leandre to make love."

Pantaloon burst into laughter. "You do not lack confidence in your
powers. Modesty does not afflict you."

"Therefore I evince the first quality necessary in an actor."

"Can you act?"

"Upon occasion, I think," said Andre-Louis, his thoughts upon his
performance at Rennes and Nantes, and wondering when in all his
histrionic career Pantaloon's improvisations had so rent the heart of
mobs.

M. Binet was musing. "Do you know much of the theatre?" quoth he.

"Everything," said Andre-Louis.

"I said that modesty will prove no obstacle in your career."

"But consider. I know the work of Beaumarchais, Eglantine, Mercier,
Chenier, and many others of our contemporaries. Then I have read, of
course, Moliere, Racine, Corneille, besides many other lesser French
writers. Of foreign authors, I am intimate with the works of Gozzi,
Goldoni, Guarini, Bibbiena, Machiavelli, Secchi, Tasso, Ariosto,
and Fedini. Whilst of those of antiquity I know most of the work of
Euripides, Aristophanes, Terence, Plautus..."

"Enough!" roared Pantaloon.

"I am not nearly through with my list," said Andre-Louis.

"You may keep the rest for another day. In Heaven's name, what can have
induced you to read so many dramatic authors?"

"In my humble way I am a student of man, and some years ago I made the
discovery that he is most intimately to be studied in the reflections of
him provided for the theatre."

"That is a very original and profound discovery," said Pantaloon, quite
seriously. "It had never occurred to me. Yet is it true. Sir, it is a
truth that dignifies our art. You are a man