He saw first incredulity, then consternation, and lastly disgust overspread her face.

“Of course,” said she, after a long pause, “that would have the advantage of bringing you closer to your charmer.”

“That was only one of the inducements.  There was another.  Finding myself forced to choose between the stage and the gallows, I had the incredible weakness to prefer the former.  It was utterly unworthy of a man of my lofty ideals, but — what would you?  Like other ideologists, I find it easier to preach than to practise.  Shall I stop the carriage and remove the contamination of my disgusting person?  Or shall I tell you how it happened?”

“Tell me how it happened first.  Then we will decide.”

He told her how he met the Binet Troupe, and how the men of the marechaussee forced upon him the discovery that in its bosom he could lie safely lost until the hue and cry had died down.  The explanation dissolved her iciness.

“My poor Andre, why didn’t you tell me this at first?”

“For one thing, you didn’t give me time; for another, I feared to shock you with the spectacle of my degradation.”

She took him seriously.  “But where was the need of it?  And why did you not send us word as I required you of your whereabouts?”

“I was thinking of it only yesterday.  I have hesitated for several reasons.”

“You thought it would offend us to know what you were doing?”

“I think that I preferred to surprise you by the magnitude of my ultimate achievements.”

“Oh, you are to become a great actor?” She was frankly scornful.

“That is not impossible.  But I am more concerned to become a great author.  There is no reason why you should sniff.  The calling is an honourable one.  All the world is proud to know such men as Beaumarchais and Chenier.”

“And you hope to equal them?”

“I hope to surpass them, whilst acknowledging that it was they who taught me how to walk.  What did you think of the play last night?”

“It was amusing and well conceived.”

“Let me present you to the author.”

“You?  But the company is one of the improvisers.”

“Even improvisers require an author to write their scenarios.  That is all I write at present.  Soon I shall be writing plays in the modern manner.”

“You deceive yourself, my poor Andre.  The piece last night would have been nothing without the players.  You are fortunate in your Scaramouche.”

“In confidence — I present you to him.”

“You — Scaramouche?  You?” She turned to regard him fully.  He smiled his close-lipped smile that made wrinkles like gashes in his cheeks.  He nodded.  “And I didn’t recognize you!”

“I thank you for the tribute.  You imagined, of course, that I was a scene-shifter.  And now that you know all about me, what of Gavrillac?  What of my godfather?”