Part 42 (1/2)
”Have you got me an engagement?”--the young woman then appealed eagerly to her friend. ”Yes, he has done something splendid for me,” she went on to Madame Carre, resting her hand caressingly on one of the actress's while the old woman discoursed with Mr. Dashwood, who was telling her in very pretty French that he was tremendously excited about Miss Rooth.
Madame Carre looked at him as if she wondered how he appeared when he was calm and how, as a dramatic artist, he expressed that condition.
”Yes, yes, something splendid, for a beginning,” Peter answered radiantly, recklessly; feeling now only that he would say anything and do anything to please her. He spent on the spot, in imagination, his last penny.
”It's such a pity you couldn't follow it; you'd have liked it so much better,” Mr. Dashwood observed to their hostess.
”Couldn't follow it? Do you take me for _une sotte_?” the celebrated artist cried. ”I suspect I followed it _de plus pres que vous, monsieur_!”
”Ah you see the language is so awfully fine,” Basil Dashwood replied, looking at his shoes.
”The language? Why she rails like a fish-wife. Is that what you call language? Ours is another business.”
”If you understood, if you understood, you'd see all the greatness of it,” Miriam declared. And then in another tone: ”Such delicious expressions!”
”_On dit que c'est tres-fort_. But who can tell if you really say it?”
Madame Carre demanded.
”Ah, _par exemple_, I can!” Sherringham answered.
”Oh you--you're a Frenchman.”
”Couldn't he make it out if he weren't?” asked Basil Dashwood.
The old woman shrugged her shoulders. ”He wouldn't know.”
”That's flattering to me.”
”Oh you--don't you pretend to complain,” Madame Carre said. ”I prefer _our_ imprecations--those of Camille,” she went on. ”They have the beauty _des plus belles choses_.”
”I can say them too,” Miriam broke in.
”_Insolente_!” smiled Madame Carre. ”Camille doesn't squat down on the floor in the middle of them.
”For grief is proud and makes his owner stoop.
To me and to the state of my great grief Let kings a.s.semble,”
Miriam quickly declaimed. ”Ah if you don't feel the way she makes a throne of it!”
”It's really tremendously fine, _chere madame_,” Sherringham said.
”There's nothing like it.”
”_Vous etes insupportables_,” the old woman answered. ”Stay with us.
I'll teach you Phedre.”
”Ah Phaedra, Phaedra!” Basil Dashwood vaguely e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, looking more gentlemanly than ever.
”You've learned all I've taught you, but where the devil have you learned what I haven't?” Madame Carre went on.
”I've worked--I have; you'd call it work--all through the bright, late summer, all through the hot, dull, empty days. I've battered down the door--I did hear it crash one day. But I'm not so very good yet. I'm only in the right direction.”