CHAPTER XXVI

THE COUNT'S CHANCE.

"Where is Mr. Melton?" asked the Count.

"Up in the 'flies,' sir, I believe," said the prompter. "Shall I send for him?"

"No, I shall go up to him," said the Count.

It was on the evening of the day on which he had told Will of Miall & Welling's downfall. After having ascertained the truth of the report, he had gone to spend the remainder of the day at his club, in talking, reading, and dining; and when he did think of going round to the theatre, he found that the piece in which Annie Brunel played would be over, and she gone home. This was as he wished.

So he made his way up the well-worn wooden steps until he reached the "flies," where he found Mr. Melton, seated on the drum which rolled up the drop-scene, in earnest talk with a carpenter. On seeing the Count, the man walked away, and Mr. Melton rose.

"Welcome back to England!" said the manager, rather nervously. "I have been most anxious to see you."

"Ah," said the Count.

"Indeed, the strangest thing has happened--completely floored me--never heard the like," continued Mr. Melton, hurriedly. "Have you seen Miss Brunel?"

"No," said the Count.

"Not since you returned?"

"No."

"You are not acquainted with her resolution?"

"No."

"Then let me tell you what happened not half an hour ago in this very theatre. You see that scenery? It's all new. The dresses are new--new music, new decorations, a new theatre, and--d----n it all!--it's enough to make a man mad!"

"But what is it?" asked the Count of the abnormally excited manager.

"A few minutes ago Miss Brunel comes to me and says, 'Mr. Melton, a word with you.'

"'Certainly,' said I.

"Then she turned a little pale; and had that curious look in her eyes that she used to wear on the stage, you know; and said, clearly, 'I am not going to act any more.'

"When I had recovered breath, I said:

"'Pardon me, Miss Brunel; you must. Look at the expense I have been put to in getting up this revival----'

"And then she grew excited, as if she were half-mad, and implored me not to compel her to fulfil her engagement. She said her acting was a failure; that everybody knew it was a failure; that she had an invincible repugnance to going on the stage again; and that nothing would tempt her to begin a new piece, either with me or with anybody else. I can assure you, Count Schoenstein, now that I think over it, there never was a finer scene in any play than she acted then--with her despair, and her appeals, and her determination. I thought at first she was bewitched; and then I declare she was so nearly on the point of bewitching me, that I was almost agreeing to everything she asked, only----"

"Only what?"

"Only I remembered that the theatre was not only my own affair, and that I had no business to compromise its interests by--you understand?"

"Quite right--quite right," said the Count, hastily. "And then----?"

"Then she left."

"But what--what is the reason of her wishing to leave the stage?"

"I don't know."

"Had she heard any--any news, for example?"

"I don't know."

"Why, Melton, what a fellow you are!" cried the Count, peevishly. "I'm sure you could easily have found out, if you cared, what she meant by it."

"I tell you I was quite dumfoundered--"

"And she said nothing about any news--or her prospects--or a change----?"

"Nothing. From what she said, I gathered that she had come to dislike acting, and that she was convinced her future career would be wretched, both for herself and the house. You have never asked me about the theatre at all. The first two or three nights the curiosity of people to see her in the new part gave us some good business; but now the papers have changed their tune, and the public----"

Mr. Melton shrugged his shoulders; but Count Schoenstein was paying no attention to him.

"_If she has discovered the secret,_" he was reasoning with himself, "_she would be in no such desperate hurry to leave the stage. If she has not, now is the time for me._"

"Melton," he said, "what would be a reasonable forfeit if she broke her engagement?"

"I don't know. I should say 200*l*. She said she could not offer me compensation in money, and that's why she begged so hard of me for the favour. God knows, if I could afford it, and were my own master, I should not make the poor creature keep to her engagement. Look at the money she used to put into the treasury every week."

"Very good. Come downstairs to your room; I want to transact some business with you."

When they had gone down to the stage and passed through the wings to Mr. Melton's private room, both men sate down in front of a table on which were writing materials.

"Take a sheet of paper, like a good fellow," said the Count, "and write to my dictation."

Melton took the pen in his hand, and the Count continued--

"_My dear Miss Brunel,--In consideration of your past services, and of the great success attending_--should that be attendant, Melton?--_upon your previous labours in this theatre, I beg to offer you entire liberty to break your present engagement, at whatever time you please.--Yours sincerely, Charles Melton._"

"And what do you propose to do with that, Count?" said Melton, with a smile.

"I propose to give you this bit of paper for it," said the Count.

He handed the manager an _I.O.U._ for 200*l.*; and then carefully folded up the letter and put it in his pocket.