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CHAPTER V
ENTER SCARAMOUCHE

Dressed in the close-fitting suit of a bygone age, all black, from
flat velvet cap to rosetted shoes, his face whitened and a slight
up-curled moustache glued to his upper lip, a small-sword at his
side and a guitar slung behind him, Scaramouche surveyed himself
in a mirror, and was disposed to be sardonic - which was the proper
mood for the part.
He reflected that his life, which until lately had been of a
stagnant, contemplative quality, had suddenly become excessively
active. In the course of one week he had been lawyer, mob-orator,
outlaw, property-man, and finally buffoon. Last Wednesday he had
been engaged in moving an audience of Rennes to anger; on this
Wednesday he was to move an audience of Guichen to mirth. Then he
had been concerned to draw tears; to-day it was his business to
provoke laughter. There was a difference, and yet there was a
parallel. Then as now he had been a comedian; and the part that he
had played then was, when you came to think of it, akin to the part
he was to play this evening.


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