"He is good-looking, certainly," she said, "He is very like
Miraudin. They might almost be brothers."
"Miraudin, ce cher Miraudin!" exclaimed the Comtesse gaily, "The
greatest actor in Europe! Yes, truly!--I go to the theatre to look
at him and I almost fancy I am in love with him instead of
Fontenelle, till I remember he stage-manages;--ah!--then I shudder!-
-and my shudder kills my love! After all it is only his resemblance
to the Marquis that causes the love,--and perhaps the shudder!"
"Sylvie, Sylvie!" laughed Angela, "Can you not be serious? What do
you mean?"
"I mean what I say," declared Sylvie, "Miraudin used to be the
darling of all the sentimental old maids and little school-girls who
did not know him off the stage. In Paris, in Rome, in Vienna, in
Buda-Pesth--always a conqueror of ignorant women who saw him in his
beautiful 'make-up'! Yes, he was perfectly delightful,--this big
Miraudin, till he became his own manager and his own leading actor
as well! Helas! What it is to be a manager! Do you know? It is to
keep a harem like a grand Turk;--and woe betide the woman who joins
the company without understanding that she is to be one of the many!
The sultana is the 'leading lady'.
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