The pair played the scene well together, stimulated, perhaps, by
their very nervousness at finding themselves before so imposing an
audience. Polichinelle was everything that is fierce, contemptuous,
and insistent. Columbine was the essence of pert indifference
under his cajolery, saucily mocking under his threats, and finely
sly in extorting the very maximum when it came to accepting a bribe.
Laughter rippled through the audience and promised well. But M.
Binet, standing trembling in the wings, missed the great guffaws of
the rustic spectators to whom they had played hitherto, and his
fears steadily mounted.
Then, scarcely has Polichinelle departed by the door than Scaramouche
bounds in through the window. It was an effective entrance, usually
performed with a broad comic effect that set the people in a roar.
Not so on this occasion. Meditating in bed that morning, Scaramouche
had decided to present himself in a totally different aspect. He
would cut out all the broad play, all the usual clowning which had
delighted their past rude audiences, and he would obtain his effects
by subtlety instead.
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