e pond whose slumbering waters....'"

Fagette rebuked him:

"'Beware, Aimeri, lest the chateau know you not again, lest the park
forget your name, lest the pond murmur: "Who is this stranger?"'"

But she had a cold, and was reading from a manuscript copy full of
mistakes.

"Don't stand there, Fagette: it's the summer-house," said Romilly.

"How do you expect me to know that?"

"There's a chair put there."

"'Lest the pond murmur: "Who is this stranger?"'"

"Mademoiselle Nanteuil, it's your cue----Where has Nanteuil got to?
Nanteuil!"

Nanteuil came forward muffled up in her furs, her little bag and her
part in her hand, white as a sheet, her eyes sunken, her legs nerveless.
When fully awake she had seen the dead man enter her bedroom.

She inquired:

"Where do I make my entrance from?"

"From the right."

"All right."

And she read:

"'Cousin, I was so happy when I awoke this morning, I do not know why it
was. Can you perhaps tell me?'"

Delage read his reply:

"'It may be, Cecile, that it was due to a special dispensation of
Providence or of fate. The God who loves you suffers you to smile, in
the hour of weeping and the gnashing of teeth.'"

"Nanteuil, my darling, you cross the stage," said Romilly. "Delage,
stand aside a bit to let her pass."

Nanteuil crossed over.

"'Terrible days, do you say, Aimeri? Our days are what we make them.
They are terrible for evil-doers only.'"

Romilly interrupted:

"Delage, efface yourself a trifle; be careful not to hide her from the
audience. Once more, Nanteuil."

Nanteuil repeated:

"'Terrible days, do you say, Aimeri? Our days are what we make them.
They are terrible for evil-doers only.'"

Constantin Marc no longer recognized his handiwork, he could no longer
even hear the sound of his beloved phrases, which he had so often
repeated to himself in the Vivarais woods. Dumbfounded and dazed, he
held his peace.

Nanteuil tripped daintily across the stage, and resumed reading her
part:

"'You will perhaps think me very foolish, Aimeri; in the convent where I
was brought up, I often used to envy the fate of the victims.'"

Delage took up his cue, but he had overlooked a page of the manuscript:

"'The weather is magnificent. Already the guests are strolling about the
garden.'"

It became necessary to start all over again.

"'Terrible days, do you say, Aimeri....'"

And so they proceeded, without troubling to understand, but careful to
regul