Many of the spectators, supposing this was a part of the play--though they did not see its precise connection with the plot--applauded what was apparently a fine piece of acting. "Good!" "Capital!" "Bravo!" were heard from all parts of the room, mingled with stamping and clapping. The man darted looks of concentrated hate at the audience. "Who is he?" "How well he does it!" "What splendid tragedy powers!" were some of the audible remarks that this called forth. It was also observed that a wonderfully natural style of acting was instantly developed among the other _dramatis personae_. Fidelia sprang from the arms of Alberto, and put on a lifelike expression of insulted dignity, mingled with astonishment. Alberto took a step away from the ghastly intruder, and was evidently at a loss what to do. His face was eloquent with bewilderment and mortification. The father looked confused and sheepish, and put his hands into his pockets. Bidette screamed a little, and fled to the opposite scenes. Uncle Bignolio whistled and smiled, and was evidently amused at the occurrence. All this, done in five seconds, so delighted the spectators, that they cheered, and cheered again. "As good as a theatre!" ejaculated a new friend of Mrs. Slapman's, on the front row. The strange, disorderly man plunged forward with one leg toward Alberto, and then drew himself back suddenly, as if in a state of harassing indecision. (Applause.) Then he cast a diabolical look (worthy of the elder Booth in Richard III) at the young lover, and shrieked, "Wretch! villain! I will--I will--" He hesitated to add what he would do, but shook his fists in a highly natural manner at the object of his hate. (Great applause.) "Sir!" said Fidelia, stretching her proud young form erect, like a tragedy queen, "How dare you, sir!" (Boisterous applause, and this remark from an elderly gentleman: "The picture of Mrs. Siddons!") The singular individual in black was seen to tremble with increased violence. His eyes rolled more wildly, while his face took on a chalkier hue. He stepped back, as if to insure his retreat. Then, mustering all his resolution, he said: "M-Mrs. M-Mrs. Slapman, you--you ought to be a-ashamed of yourself!" The real character of the strange actor was now made evident, and the whole house was hushed in awe and expectation. There was not a man or woman present but knew too well the folly of mingling in a family quarrel. So they held their tongues, and enjoyed the scene. Mrs. Slapman turned to the audience. She was pale, but perfectly composed. She said: "Ladies and gentlemen, this is my husband, a very quiet and well-behaved man, whose only fault is excessive nervousness. This fault, I am sorry to say, he encourages, by constantly smoking cigars and drinking strong black tea. He has been indulging in both of these stimulants to-night, till he is quite beside himself. I trust you will excuse and pity him. He has no other vices that I know of."