Just then the little Princess de Harn, coming up like a gust of wind,
broke in upon the three men. "I've no seat, you know!" she cried.
Duthil fancied that it was a question of finding her a well-placed chair
in the church. "You mustn't count on me," he answered. "I've just had no
end of trouble in stowing the Duchess de Boisemont away with her two
daughters."
"Oh, but I'm talking of this evening's performance. Come, my dear Duthil,
you really must find me a little corner in somebody's box. I shall die, I
know I shall, if I can't applaud our delicious, our incomparable friend!"
Ever since setting Silviane down at her door on the previous day,
Rosemonde had been overflowing with admiration for her.
"Oh! you won't find a single remaining seat, madame," declared Chaigneux,
putting on an air of importance. "We have distributed everything. I have
just been offered three hundred francs for a stall."
"That's true, there has been a fight even for the bracket seats, however
badly they might be placed," Duthil resumed. "I am very sorry, but you
must not count on me. . . . Duvillard is the only person who might take
you in his box. He told me that he would reserve me a seat there. And so
far, I think, there are only three of us, including his son. . . . Ask
Hyacinthe by-and-by to procure you an invitation."
Rosemonde, whom Hyacinthe had so greatly bored that she had given him his
dismissal, felt the irony of Duthil's suggestion.
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