IXThe Petite Duchesse was being rehearsed at the Varietes. The first act had just been carefully gone through, and the second was about to begin. Seated in old armchairs in front of the stage, Fauchery and Bordenave were discussing various points while the prompter, Father Cossard, a little humpbacked man perched on a straw-bottomed chair, was turning over the pages of the manuscript, a pencil between his lips.
“Well, what are they waiting for?” cried Bordenave on a sudden, tapping the floor savagely with his heavy cane. “Barillot, why don't they begin?”
“It's Monsieur Bosc that has disappeared,” replied Barillot, who was acting as second stage manager.'
Then there arose a tempest, and everybody shouted for Bosc while Bordenave swore.
“Always the same thing, by God! It's all very well
