Drowsy warmth was streaming
down from the flies, and in the wings, which were lit by vivid patches
of light, only a few people remained, talking in low voices or making
off on tiptoe. The gasman was at his post amid an intricate arrangement
of cocks; a fireman, leaning against the side lights, was craning
forward, trying to catch a glimpse of things, while on his seat, high
up, the curtain man was watching with resigned expression, careless of
the play, constantly on the alert for the bell to ring him to his duty
among the ropes. And amid the close air and the shuffling of feet and
the sound of whispering, the voices of the actors on the stage sounded
strange, deadened, surprisingly discordant. Farther off again, above the
confused noises of the band, a vast breathing sound was audible. It was
the breath of the house, which sometimes swelled up till it burst in
vague rumors, in laughter, in applause. Though invisible, the presence
of the public could be felt, even in the silences.
"There's something open," said Nana sharply, and with that she tightened
the folds of her fur cloak. "Do look, Barillot. I bet they've just
opened a window. Why, one might catch one's death of cold here!"
Barillot swore that he had closed every window himself but suggested
that possibly there were broken panes about.
Pages:
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247