“I’ll cut your ears for you if you’re not civil,” stormed the infuriated Binet. Polichinelle got up slowly, and stretched himself. “Dieu de Dieu!” said he. “If Pantaloon is to play Rhodomont, I think I’ll leave you. He is not amusing in the part.” And he swaggered out before M. Binet had recovered from his speechlessness. CHAPTER IV. EXIT MONSIEUR PARVISSIMUS Ar four o’clock on Monday afternoon the curtain rose on “Figaro-Scaramouche” to an audience that filled three quarters of the market-hall. M. Binet attributed this good attendance to the influx of people to Guichen for the fair, and to the magnificent parade of his company through the streets of the township at the busiest time of the day. Andre-Louis attributed it entirely to the title. It was the “Figaro” touch that had fetched in the better-class bourgeoisie, which filled more than half of the twenty-sous places and three quarters of the twelve-sous seats. The lure had drawn them. Whether it was to continue to do so would depend upon the manner in which the canevas over which he had laboured to the glory of Binet was interpreted by the company. Of the merits of the canevas itself he had no doubt. The authors upon whom he had drawn for the elements of it were sound, and he had taken of their best, which he claimed to be no more than the justice due to them. The company excelled itself. The audience followed with relish the sly intriguings of Scaramouche, delighted in the beauty and freshness of Climene, was moved almost to tears by the hard fate which through four long acts kept her from the hungering arms of the so beautiful Leandre, howled its delight over the ignominy of Pantaloon, the buffooneries of his sprightly lackey Harlequin, and the thrasonical strut and bellowing fierceness of the cowardly Rhodomont. The success of the Binet troupe in Guichen was assured. That night the company drank Burgundy at M. Binet’s expense. The takings reached the sum of eight louis, which was as good business as M. Binet had ever done in all his career. He was very pleased. Gratification rose like steam from his fat body. He even condescended so far as to attribute a share of the credit for the success to M. Parvissimus. “His suggestion,” he was careful to say, by way of properly delimiting that share, “was most valuable, as I perceived at the time.” “And his cutting of quills,” growled Polichinelle. “Don’t forget that. It is most important to have by you a man who understands how to cut a quill, as I shall remember when I turn author.” But not even that gibe could stir M. Binet out of his lethargy of content.