Page:The Revolt of the Angels v2.djvu/246



HE performance was over. Bouchotte in her was taking off her  when the door opened softly and old Monsieur Sandraque, her protector, came in, followed by a troop of her other admirers. Without so much as turning her head, she asked them what they meant by coming and staring at her like a pack of imbeciles, and whether they thought they were in a tent at the Neuilly Fair, looking at the freak woman.

“Now, then, ladies and gentlemen,” she rattled on derisively, “just put a penny in the box for the young lady’s and she’ll let you feel her legs,—all made of marble!”

Then, with an angry glance at the admiring throng, she exclaimed: “Come, off you go! Look alive!”

She sent them all packing, her sweetheart Théophile among them,—the  gentle, melancholy,  and dreamy Théophile.

But recognizing her little Maurice, she gave him