Mademoiselle Blanche. Barry John Daniel
to a chair at the little table. He wanted to show by his manner that he didn't like that familiar slap. Durand, however, was unruffled.
"What are you doing here, anyway? Why aren't you at the theatre or one of the cafés chantants?"
Jules took a puff of his cigarette, and then looked down at the little figure.
"I might ask you the same question."
"Oh, I'm working. This is a busy night for me." Then Durand's face lighted. "What do you suppose I've got to do to-night?"
Jules knocked the ashes of his cigarette against the edge of the table. "Now, do you mean? I can't imagine. You're always doing impossible things."
"I'm going to interview the little acrobat."
Jules came very near jumping. He controlled himself, however, and carelessly lifted the cigarette to his lips again.
"What little acrobat?" he asked, screwing his eyes.
"The one you saw last night – at the Cirque– the Cirque Parisien."
"Oh, Mademoiselle – Mademoiselle – what's her name – the one who dives from the top of the building?"
"Yes, Mademoiselle Blanche. When I went back to the office last night, I told old Bargy about her – cracked her up to the skies, and he swallowed the bait, and sent me round to interview her to-night. Ah, my dear boy, that's one of the advantages of being a newspaper man. It opens every door to you. Whenever I want to get acquainted with a pretty actress, I simply go and interview her."
He sat back in his seat and smiled and hummed a popular song, rapping the table with his fingers. The waiter came up and asked for his order.
"Two bocks!" said Durand, looking at Jules.
"No, no more for me. I haven't finished this yet." When the waiter went away, Jules glanced sleepily at the journalist. "You're a very lucky fellow, it seems to me. I should think it would be rather agreeable to know the pretty actresses."
Durand shrugged his shoulders. "Sometimes, yes – sometimes, no. Usually it spoils the illusion."
Jules stared thoughtfully at his bock. "Aren't you afraid you'll be disillusioned by Mademoiselle Blanche?"
"Oh, probably. They're all alike – when you come to know them. But there's something about her that made me think she might be a little different from the rest. At any rate, she's dev'lish pretty, isn't she?"
"Do you think so?" Jules asked, with a deprecating lift of the eyebrows.
"Think so! I know so! If you don't think so you must be hard to please."
"Oh, I thought she was pretty in her circus rig. I should like to see her out of the ring. They make up so, those women. You can't tell whether they're really pretty or not."
"Well, come around with me, and I'll introduce you. Then you can see for yourself."
Jules nearly jumped again, but his cigarette helped him to disguise the impulse. "I'm afraid I shall be in the way," he said, after a meditative puff.
Durand had seized the bock left on the table by the waiter, and was holding it over his head. When half the contents had disappeared, he smacked his lips and wiped them with his handkerchief. "Not at all. You'll help me draw her out. They say she does the shy-young-girl act; so she's hard to talk with. That seems to be a favorite pose of actresses nowadays."
Jules' heart was throbbing. He was afraid that Durand would discover his elation. So he tried to appear indifferent and cynical. Durand's cynicism amused him; yet in the journalist's presence he was always trying to imitate it.
When he had drained his bock, Durand stood up, surveyed with a professional eye the crowd at the tables, nodded to a few acquaintances, and made a sign to Jules that he was ready to go. It had ceased raining, but the sky was still leaden. The splendid portico of the Madeleine loomed out of the darkness, and the lights in the Boulevard des Capucines were gleaming faintly in the mist. They met few people as they walked toward the Opéra, but there was plenty of life around the theatres in the Boulevard des Italiens. When they reached the Cirque, Durand had a whispered consultation with the Control who sat in self-conscious dignity and evening dress at the desk near the main door. He referred the journalist to a short fat man with a white beard, lounging a few feet away, and Jules stood apart while the two had an animated talk. After a few moments, Durand made a sign to Jules to come up, and Jules found himself presented to Réju as "my confrère, Monsieur Jules Le Baron, of the Marseilles Gazette." Réju was very amiable, and Jules felt angry, though he could not help being amused by Durand's serene impudence.
They were conducted at once into the theatre, under the great arch, draped with French flags, where the performers made their exits and their entrances. Then they found themselves in a large bare room, with several passages radiating from it.
"The dressing-rooms are here," Réju explained, pointing to the passages. "Mademoiselle Blanche's room is number 5. I don't know whether she has come yet or not. Her act doesn't begin till ten minutes of eleven. Wait here, and I'll see if she can receive you."
Durand smiled at Jules, and as soon as Réju was out of hearing, he whispered: "I hope you didn't mind that little fairy-tale of mine. I had to pass you off as one of the fraternity. If I hadn't they wouldn't have let you come in. Now, don't forget your part, the Marseilles Gazette. It's a good republican paper. The editor's a great friend of mine."
"I'm afraid I sha'n't be a credit to the profession. I've never seen any one interviewed in my life."
"Then it'll be an education to you." Durand laughed. "Look out. Here he comes!"
The fat little manager approached them with a smiling face; he evidently had in mind two free advertisements for the theatre.
"Mademoiselle Blanche," he said impressively, "arrived five minutes ago, and she hasn't begun to dress yet. If you'll have the kindness to follow me, messieurs" – he concluded with a bow and a wave of the hand.
Jules' body was tingling, and his heart beat violently. Durand, on the contrary, seemed more debonair than ever; with an air of importance, he strutted behind the manager, as if conferring an honor on the performer by his call. Réju rapped on the door, and after a moment a shrill voice piped:
"Entrez!"
IV
Durand made a bold entrance, and Jules followed sheepishly. The room was small and uncarpeted; on one side stood a wardrobe and a table, and on the opposite wall hung a large mirror that reflected nearly the whole of the apartment. The rest of the furniture consisted of two wooden chairs and a large trunk. Jules did not realize that he had observed these details till afterward, for his glance was bent on the face of Mademoiselle Blanche, who stood beside the trunk, surveying her callers with apprehension in her big eyes. On one of the chairs sat a woman of fifty, tall and thin, with strands of flesh hanging at her neck, her eyes bright, her lips aglow with a false bloom, and her cheeks pallid with powder. Jules recognized her at once as the acrobat's mother, and he had a shock of surprise and revulsion.
The manager, after presenting the callers to Madame Perrault, and then to her daughter, excused himself with a flourish, and left the room. Madame Perrault was smiling and chattering at Durand, and Mademoiselle Blanche was flushed and confused.
"I think we must be the first of the Parisian journalists to interview Mademoiselle," said Durand to the mother, letting his eyes turn vaguely to the acrobat for information.
Madame Perrault gave a little jump, and glanced hastily at her daughter's face.
"Yes, you are," she replied. "We did have – that is, there was a gentleman of the press who wanted to interview Blanche, but she – she was a little timid about it. Blanche is very timid; so we – we put it off. But interviewers are very – Ah, you will sit down, will you not?" she said to Jules, who had remained standing with his eyes fixed on the girl.
Mademoiselle Blanche had taken a seat on the trunk, and her mother sat beside her so that Jules might occupy her chair. When they were all adjusted, Madame Perrault resumed, turning to Jules, whose embarrassment