Lucien,followinghisfriend,wentsuddenlyoutofthelightedcorridorintotheblackdarknessofthepassagebetweenthehouseandthewings.Ashortflightofdampstepssurmounted,oneofthestrangestofallspectaclesopenedoutbeforetheprovincialpoet\'seyes.Theheightoftheroof,theslendernessoftheprops,theladdershungwithArgandlamps,theatrociousuglinessofscenerybeheldatclosequarters,thethickpaintontheactors\'faces,andtheiroutlandishcostumes,madeofsuchcoarsematerials,thestagecarpentersingreasyjackets,thefiremen,thestagemanagerstruttingaboutwithhishatonhishead,thesupernumerariessittingamongthehangingback-scenes,theropesandpulleys,theheterogeneouscollectionofabsurdities,shabby,dirty,hideous,andgaudy,wassomethingsoaltogetherdifferentfromthestageseenoverthefootlights,thatLucien\'sastonishmentknewnobounds.Thecurtainwasjustabouttofallonagoodold-fashionedmelodramaentitledBertram,aplayadaptedfromatragedybyMaturinwhichCharlesNodier,togetherwithByronandSirWalterScott,heldinthehighestesteem,thoughtheplaywasafailureonthestageinParis.
\"Keepatightholdofmyarm,unlessyouhaveamindtofallthroughatrap-door,orbringdownaforestonyourhead;youwillpulldownapalace,orcarryoffacottage,ifyouarenotcareful,\"saidEtienne——
\"IsFlorineinherdressing-room,mypet?\"headded,addressinganactresswhostoodwaitingforhercue.
\"Yes,love.Thankyouforthethingsyousaidaboutme.YouaresomuchnicersinceFlorinehascomehere.\"
\"Come,don\'tspoilyourentry,littleone.Quickwithyou,looksharp,andsay,\'Stop,wretchedman!\'nicely,fortherearetwothousandfrancsoftakings.\"