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52 THE CONFESSION OF A FOOL
At last the doors opened, and we went in to take our
seats, which had not been reserved.
The curtain rose. The Baroness was bhssfuUy happy
to see the stage, smell the mingled odours of painted
canvas, raw wood, rouge and perspiration.
They played A Whim. A sudden indisposition seized
me, the result of the distressing memories of my \ain
efforts to conquer the stage, and also, perhaps, the conse-
quence of the excesses of the previous night. When the
curtain fell, I left my seat and made my way to the
restaurant, where I refreshed myself with a double-
absinthe, and remained until the performance was over.
My friends met me after the play, and we went to have
supper together. They seemed tired, and unable to hide
their annoyance at my flight. Nobody spoke a word while
the table was being laid. A desultory conversation was
started with the greatest difficulty. The cousin remained
mute, haughty, reserved.
We discussed the menu. After consulting A\ith me, the
Baroness ordered hoi’s d^œuvrcs. Roughly—too roughly
for my unstrung nerves, the Baron countermanded the
order. Lost in gloomy thoughts, I pretended not to hear
him, and called out ^^
Hors (Vœuvrcs for two! " for her
and for me, as she had originally ordered.
The Baron grew pale with anger. There was thunder
in the air, but not another Avord was spoken.
I inwardly admired my courage in thus answering a
rudeness with an insult, bound to have serious consequences
in any civilised country. The Baroness, encouraged by
the way in which I had stood up for her, began teasing
me in order to make me laugh. But in vain. Conversa-
tion was impossible ; nobody had anything to say, and the
Baron and I exchanged angry glances. In the end my
opponent whispered a remark in his neighbour’s ear ; in
reply she made a grimace, nodded, pronounced a few
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