They appeared to be acting of
set purpose--the prince would certainly have some set piece or other
tumbling on his head.
"Up with it! Up with it!" shouted the foreman.
At length the canvas at the back of the stage was raised into position,
and the stage was clear. Mignon, who had kept his eye on Fauchery,
seized this opportunity in order to start his pummeling matches again.
He hugged him in his long arms and cried:
"Oh, take care! That mast just missed crushing you!"
And he carried him off and shook him before setting him down again. In
view of the sceneshifters' exaggerated mirth, Fauchery grew white.
His lips trembled, and he was ready to flare up in anger while Mignon,
shamming good nature, was clapping him on the shoulder with such
affectionate violence as nearly to pulverize him.
"I value your health, I do!" he kept repeating. "Egad! I should be in a
pretty pickle if anything serious happened to you!"
But just then a whisper ran through their midst: "The prince! The
prince!" And everybody turned and looked at the little door which opened
out of the main body of the house. At first nothing was visible save
Bordenave's round back and beefy neck, which bobbed down and arched
up in a series of obsequious obeisances.
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