has made herself as hideous as possible--as
a fitting punishment for all his deviltries, rodomontades, and
cowardice. Pandolphe, thoroughly disgusted with Matamore at last, makes
no further objections to Leander's suit, and the curtain falls as he
gives his consent to the marriage of the two young lovers.

This bouffonnade, being played with great spirit, was enthusiastically
applauded. The gentlemen were charmed with the mischievous, coquettish
soubrette, who was fairly radiant with beauty that evening; the ladies
were greatly pleased with Isabelle's refinement and modesty; whilst
Matamore received the well merited encomiums of all. It would have been
impossible to find, even in the great Parisian theatres, an actor better
fitted for the part he had played so admirably. Leander was much
admired by all the younger ladies, but the gentlemen agreed, without a
dissenting voice, that he was a horridly conceited coxcomb. Wherever
he appeared indeed this was the universal verdict, with which he was
perfectly content--caring far more for his handsome person, and the
effect it produced upon the fair sex, than for his art; though, to do
him justice, he was a very good actor. Serafina's beauty did not fail to
find admirers, and more than one young gentleman swore by his mustache
that she was an adorable creature--quite regardless of the displeasure
of the fair ladies within hearing.

During the play, de Sigognac, hidden in the coulisses, had enjoyed
intensely Isabelle's charming rendering of her part, though he was
more than a little jealous of the favour she apparently bestowed upon
Leander--and especially at the tender tone of her voice whenever she
spoke to him--not being yet accustomed to the feigned love-making on the
stage, which often covers profound antipathies and real enmity. When
the play was over, he complimented the young actress with a constrained,
embarrassed air, which she could not help remarking, and perfectly
understood.

"You play that part admirably, Isabelle! so well that one might almost
think there was some truth in it."

"Is it not my duty to do so?" she asked smilingly, secretly pleased at
his displeasure; "did not the manager engage me for that?"

"Doubtless," de Sigognac replied, "but you seemed to be REALLY in love
with that conceited fellow, who never thinks of anything but his own
good looks, and how to display them to the best advantage."

"But the role required it. You surely would not have