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Then he pulled himself together,
and played. He played, he says, with an unusual nerve, and never
in all that brief but eventful career of his was he more applauded.
That was the evening's first shock. The next came after the second
act. Entering the green-room he found it more thronged than usual,
and at the far end with Climene, over whom he was bending from his
fine height, his eyes intent upon her face, what time his smiling
lips moved in talk, M. de La Tour d'Azyr. He had her entirely to
himself, a privilege none of the men of fashion who were in the
habit of visiting the coulisse had yet enjoyed. Those lesser
gentlemen had all withdrawn before the Marquis, as jackals withdraw
before the lion.
Andre-Louis stared a moment, stricken. Then recovering from his
surprise he became critical in his study of the Marquis. He
considered the beauty and grace and splendour of him, his courtly
air, his complete and unshakable self-possession. But more than
all he considered the expression of the dark eyes that were devouring
Climene's lovely face, and his own lips tightened.


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