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And then he became conscious of something
alarmingly unusual in Scaramouche's manner. The sibilant foreign
accent was there, but none of the broad boisterousness their
audiences had loved.
He wrung his hands in despair. "It is all over!" he said. "The
fellow has ruined us! It serves me right for being a fool, and
allowing him to take control of everything!"
But he was profoundly mistaken. He began to have an inkling of this
when presently himself he took the stage, and found the public
attentive, remarked a grin of quiet appreciation on every upturned
face. It was not, however, until the thunders of applause greeted
the fall of the curtain on the first act that he felt quite sure
they would be allowed to escape with their lives.
Had the part of Pantaloon in "Les Fourberies" been other than that
of a blundering, timid old idiot, Binet would have ruined it by his
apprehensions. As it was, those very apprehensions, magnifying as
they did the hesitancy and bewilderment that were the essence of
his part, contributed to the success.


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