he cold light of morning you may see our two proposals in their proper
proportions. Mine spells fortune for both of us. Yours spells ruin for
both of us. Good-night, M. Binet. Heaven help you to a wise decision."

The decision to which M. Binet finally came was, naturally, the only one
possible in the face of so firm a resolve as that of Andre-Louis, who
held the trumps. Of course there were further discussions, before all
was settled, and M. Binet was brought to an agreement only after an
infinity of haggling surprising in one who was an artist and not a
man of business. One or two concessions were made by Andre-Louis; he
consented, for instance, to waive his claim to be paid for scenarios,
and he also consented that M. Binet should appoint himself a salary that
was out of all proportion to his deserts.

Thus in the end the matter was settled, and the announcement duly
made to the assembled company. There were, of course, jealousies and
resentments. But these were not deep-seated, and they were readily
swallowed when it was discovered that under the new arrangement the lot
of the entire company was to be materially improved from the point
of view of salaries. This was a matter that had met with considerable
opposition from M. Binet. But the irresistible Scaramouche swept away
all objections.

"If we are to play at the Feydau, you want a company of self-respecting
comedians, and not a pack of cringing starvelings. The better we pay
them in reason, the more they will earn for us."

Thus was conquered the company's resentment of this too swift promotion
of its latest recruit. Cheerfully now--with one exception--they accepted
the dominance of Scaramouche, a dominance soon to be so firmly
established that M. Binet himself came under it.

The one exception was Climene. Her failure to bring to heel this
interesting young stranger, who had almost literally dropped into their
midst that morning outside Guichen, had begotten in her a malice which
his persistent ignoring of her had been steadily inflaming. She had
remonstrated with her father when the new partnership was first formed.
She had lost her temper with him, and called him a fool, whereupon M.
Binet--in Pantaloon's best manner--had lost his temper in his turn and
boxed her ears. She piled it up to the account of Scaramouche, and
spied her opportunity to pay off some of that ever-increasing score. But
opportunities were few. Scaramouche was too occupied just then. Du