Good day to you, citizeness. I ought to have
brought flowers, I know; but I am a busy man--a harassed man."
"Je te crois," she said with a grave nod of the head; "but do come
to the theatre to-night. I am playing Camille--such a fine part!
one of my greatest successes."
"Yes, yes, I'll come--mayhap, mayhap--but I'll go now--glad to
have seen you, citizeness. Where does your cousin lodge?" he
asked abruptly.
"Here," she replied boldly, on the spur of the moment.
"Good. Let him report himself to-morrow morning at the
Conciergerie, and get his certificate of safety. It is a new
decree, and you should have one, too."
"Very well, then. Hector and I will come together, and perhaps
Aunt Marie will come too. Don't send us to maman guillotine yet
awhile, citizen," she said lightly; "you will never get such
another Camille, nor yet so good a Celimene."
She was gay, artless to the last. She accompanied Heron to the
door herself, chaffing him about his escort.
"You are an aristo, citizen," she said, gazing with well-feigned
admiration on the two sleuth-hounds who stood in wait in the
anteroom; "it makes me proud to see so many citizens at my door.
Come and see me play Camille--come to-night, and don't forget the
green-room door--it will always be kept invitingly open for you.
Pages:
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131