protestations of devotion, begged for his mistress’s hand and kissed it with great fervour; and appeared to be carrying on a lively suit to the damsel.  Now nothing could have been prettier than the picture and the pantomime.  Stuart kept his face away from the audience; Wych Hazel was revealed, and in the coy, blushing maidenly dignity and confusion which suited the character and occasion, was a tableau worth looking at.  Well looked at, and in deep silence of the company; till suddenly the growling old French father is heard coming back again.  The peasant starts to his feet, the girl sits down in terror.

‘What shall I do?’ he cries, and she echoes,—­’What shall he do?  What shall he do?’

Then came confused answers from the spectators:—­’Bolt, old fellow!’—­’Escape!’—­’Fly!’—­’Run!’—­and the last word being taken up and re-echoed, ’Run! run!’—­he did run; ran out and then ran in and across the stage again; finally out of sight; and drop the curtain.  The burst of applause was tremendous.

‘You’ll have to go on, you know, if that keeps up,’ said Stuart behind the scenes; ’and I don’t wonder.  Here, Mr. Brandevin, go in and stop them!’

The next scene was also very well done.  The old French gentleman was alone, and had it all to perform by himself.  He began with calling his daughter, in various discordant keys, and with such a variety of impatient and exasperated intonation, that the whole room was full of laughter.  His daughter not appearing nor answering, he next instituted a make-believe search for her, feigning to go into the kitchen, the buttery, her bedroom.  Not finding her, and making a great deal of amusement for the spectators by the way, he at last comes back and asks in a deploring tone, ‘Where is she?’

Cries of ‘Off!’—­’Gone!’—­’Sloped!’—­’Away!’ were such a medley that nobody professed to be able yet to make out the word.  The curtain fell again.

‘You are very stupid,’ said Mme. Lasalle.  ’It is as plain as possible.’

‘It will be, when we see the rest,’ said somebody.  ’No, I don’t think it is, either.’

For as he spoke, the curtain rose upon an old clergyman, busy with his books at a table with a lamp.  He had a wig, and looked very venerable indeed.  Presently to him comes, after a knock, his servant woman.

‘Please, sir, here’s a young couple wantin’ to see ye.  It’s the old story, I expect.’

‘Let them come, Sarah—­let them come in!’ says the old clergyman; ’the old story is the newest of all!  Let them come,—­but first help me on with my gown.  So!—­now you may open the door.’

Enter the old peasant’s daughter and her lover.  The latter confers with the old clergyman, who wheezes and puffs and is quite fussy; finally bids them stand before him in the proper position.  The proper position, of course, brings the two people to face the audience, while the old clergyman’s back was a little turned to them, and no loss.