th the pedant discreetly retired, having accomplished, to his
great satisfaction, what he had really feared to propose to the young
baron, for whom he had conceived a very warm affection.

Meanwhile the elegant Leander, indulging in delightful dreams of the
possible fair chatelaine who was to fall a victim to his charms, was
making his careful toilet--arraying himself in his most resplendent
finery, scrupulously kept for grand occasions--convinced that great good
fortune awaited him, and determined to carry the noble lady's heart by
storm.

As to the actresses, to whom the gallant marquis, with princely
munificence, had sent several pieces of rich stuffs and silks, it is
needless to say that they spared no pains to make themselves as charming
as possible, and obeyed the summons to dinner radiant with smiles and in
high good humour--excepting indeed the fair Serafina, who was inwardly
consumed with envy and spite, but careful to conceal it from all
beholders.

The marquis, who was of an ardent, impatient nature, made his appearance
in the dining-room before they had quite finished the sumptuous repast
which had been served to them; he would not allow them to rise, but
seated himself at the table with them, and when the last course had been
removed, asked the tyrant to be good enough to give him a list of the
plays they were in the habit of acting, so that he might select one
for the evening's entertainment. But so many were enumerated that his
lordship found it not easy to make a choice, and expressed his desire to
have the tyrant's ideas upon the subject.

"There is one piece we often play," Herode said, "which never fails to
please, and is so full of good-natured fun and nonsense that it keeps
the audience in a roar of laughter from the beginning to the end."

"Let us have that one, by all means," the marquis exclaimed; "and pray
what is the name of this delightful play?"

"The Rodomontades of Captain Matamore."

"A capital title, upon my word! and has the soubrette a good part in
it?" asked his lordship, with a languishing glance at her.

"The most racy, mischievous role imaginable," said Herode warmly, "and
she plays it to perfection--it is her chef d'oeuvre. She is always
applauded to the echo in it."

At this high praise from the manager, Zerbine--for such was the
soubrette's name--tried her best to get up a becoming blush, but in
vain. Modesty she had none, and the tint she would fain have called
into r