“Oh! there’ll be no need,” said Serafina, casting a scornful glance at the soubrette, who returned it with interest.

“There are bold creatures that go of their own accord, without waiting to be carried off.”

“And there are others who are not carried off, that would like to be,” retorted the soubrette, “but the desire is not sufficient; a few charms are needed too.”

At this point the equerry who had advanced to meet the chariot made a sign to them to stop, and, cap in hand, politely asked if Mlle. Zerbine was among them.  The soubrette herself answered this inquiry in the affirmative, and sprang to the ground as lightly as a bird.

“Mademoiselle, I am at your disposal,” said the equerry to her, in a respectful and gallant tone.  Zerbine shook out her skirts, adjusted her wraps, and then, turning towards the comedians, delivered this little harangue:  “My dear comrades, I pray you pardon me for quitting you in this unceremonious manner.  There are times when Opportunity offers itself suddenly for our acceptance, and we must seize it without delay, or lose it altogether; he would be a fool who let it slip through his fingers, for once relinquished it returns not again.  The face of Fortune, which until now has always frowned upon me, at last vouchsafes me a smile, and I am delighted to enjoy its brightness, even though it may prove to be only fleeting.  In my humble role of soubrette, I could not aspire to, or expect to receive, the admiration of rich lords and gentlemen—­that is for my betters; and now that a happy chance has thrown such an unhoped-for piece of good luck in my way, you will not blame me, I am confident, for gladly accepting it.  Let me take my belongings then—­which are packed in the chariot with the others—­and receive my adieux.  I shall be sure to rejoin you some day, sooner or later, at Paris, for I am a born actress; the theatre was my first love, and I have never long been faithless to it.”

The two men accordingly, aided by the comedians, took Zerbine’s boxes out of the chariot, and adjusted them carefully on the pack-mule.  The soubrette made a sweeping curtsey to her friends in the chariot, and threw a kiss to Isabelle from her finger tips, then, aided by one of the equerries, sprang to her place behind him, on the back of the Colonelle, as lightly and gracefully as if she had been taught the art of mounting in an equestrian academy, nodded a last farewell, and striking the mule sharply with the high heel of her pretty little shoe, set off at a round pace.

“Good-bye, and good luck to you, Zerbine,” cried the comedians heartily, one and all; save only Serafina, who was more furiously angry with her than ever.

“This is an unfortunate thing for us,” said the tyrant regretfully, “a serious loss.  I wish with all my heart that we could have kept that capital little actress with us; we shall not easily find any one to replace her, even in Paris; she is really incomparable in her own role—­but she was not in any way bound to stay with us a moment longer than she chose.  We shall have to substitute a duenna, or a chaperon, for the soubrette in our pieces for the present; it will be less pleasing of course, but still Mme. Leonarde here is a host in herself, and we shall manage to get on very nicely, I dare say.”