He looked up into the
heights above him, where more battens, the gas jets on which were
burning low, gleamed like galaxies of little bluish stars amid a chaos
of iron rods, connecting lines of all sizes, hanging stages and canvases
spread out in space, like huge cloths hung out to dry.
"Lower away!" shouted the foreman unexpectedly.
And the prince himself had to warn the count, for a canvas was
descending. They were setting the scenery for the third act, which was
the grotto on Mount Etna. Men were busy planting masts in the sockets,
while others went and took frames which were leaning against the walls
of the stage and proceeded to lash them with strong cords to the poles
already in position. At the back of the stage, with a view to producing
the bright rays thrown by Vulcan's glowing forge, a stand had been
fixed by a limelight man, who was now lighting various burners under red
glasses. The scene was one of confusion, verging to all appearances on
absolute chaos, but every little move had been prearranged. Nay, amid
all the scurry the whistle blower even took a few turns, stepping short
as he did so, in order to rest his legs.
"His Highness overwhelms me," said Bordenave, still bowing low.
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