ailed. Duthil, however, after absenting himself for a moment, came
back to say: "You remember our influential critic, the one whom I brought
to dinner at the Cafe Anglais? Well, he's repeating to everybody that
'Pauline' is merely a little _bourgeoise_, and is not transformed by the
heavenly grace until the very finish of the piece. To turn her into a
holy virgin from the outset simply kills the part, says he."

"Pooh!" repeated Duvillard, "let him argue if he likes, it will be all
the more advertisement.... The important point is to get Massot's
article inserted in the 'Globe' to-morrow morning."

On this point, unfortunately, the news was by no means good. Chaigneux,
who had gone in search of Fonsegue, declared that the latter still
hesitated in the matter in spite of Silviane's success, which he declared
to be ridiculous. Thereupon, the Baron became quite angry. "Go and tell
Fonsegue," he exclaimed, "that I insist on it, and that I shall remember
what he does."

Meantime Princess Rosemonde was becoming quite delirious with enthusiasm.
"My dear Hyacinthe," she pleaded, "please take me to Silviane's
dressing-room; I can't wait, I really must go and kiss her."

"But we'll all go!" cried Duvillard, who heard her entreaty.

The passages were crowded, and there were people even on the stage.
Moreover, when the party reached the door of Silviane's dressing-room,
they found it shut. When the Baron knocked at it, a dresser replied that
madame begged the gentlemen to wait a moment.

"Oh! a woman may surely go in," replied Rosemonde, hastily slipping
through the doorway. "And you may come, Hyacinthe," she added; "there can
be no objection to you."

Silviane was very hot, and a dresser was wiping her perspiring shoulders
when Rosemonde darted forward and kissed her. Then they chatted together
amidst the heat and glare from the gas and the intoxicating perfumes of
all the flowers which were heaped up in the little room. Finally,
Hyacinthe heard them promise to see one another after the performance,
Silviane even inviting Rosemonde to drink a cup of tea with her at her
house. At this the young man smiled complacently, and said to the
actress: "Your carriage is waiting for you at the corner of the Rue
Montpensier, is it not? Well, I'll take the Princess to it. That will be
the simpler plan, you can both go off together!"

"Oh! how good of you," cried Rosemonde; "it's agreed."

Just then the door was opened, and the men, be