en she tried to rise her trembling knees had nearly given way under
her, and but for the soubrette's kind support she must have fallen to
the floor. To have been the cause, though innocently, of a quarrel like
this was a terrible blow to poor Isabelle sweet, pure, modest child that
she was--for she knew that it is a dreadful thing for any woman to have
her name mixed up in such an affair, and shrank from the publicity that
could not fail to be given to it; besides, she loved de Sigognac with
fervour and devotion, though she had never acknowledged it to him, and
the thought of the danger to which he was exposed, of a secret attack by
the duke's hired ruffians, or even of a duel with his lordship himself,
drove her well-nigh frantic with grief and terror.

In spite of this untoward incident, the rehearsal went on, and very
smoothly; the theatre was found to be all that they could desire, and
everybody acted with much spirit. Even poor, trembling Isabelle did
herself credit, though her heart was heavy within her; but for de
Sigognac's dear sake, whose anxious glances she strove to meet with a
reassuring smile, she succeeded in controlling her emotion, and felt
inspired to do her very best. As to Captain Fracasse, excited by
the quarrel, he acted superbly. Zerbine surpassed herself. Shouts
of laughter and storms of clapping followed her animated words and
gestures. From one corner, near the orchestra, came such vigorous bursts
of applause, leading all the rest and lasting longer than any, that at
last Zerbine's attention was attracted and her curiosity excited.

Approaching the foot-lights, in such a way as to make it appear part of
her usual by-play, she peered over them and caught sight of her marquis,
beaming with smiles and flushed from his violent efforts in her behalf.

"The marquis is here," she managed to whisper to Blazius, who was
playing Pandolphe; "just look at him! how delighted he is, and how he
applauds me--till he is actually red in the face, the dear man! So he
admires my acting, does he? Well, he shall have a spicy specimen of it,
then."

Zerbine kept her word, and, from that on to the end of the piece, played
with redoubled spirit. She was never so sparkling, so bewitchingly
coquettish, so charmingly mischievous before, and the delighted marquis
was more fascinated than ever. The new play, entitled "Lygdamon et
Lydias," and written by a certain Georges de Scudery (a gentleman who,
after having served w