"Precisely."

The manager of the theatre, the stage-manager, the scene-shifters stood
examining the stage-setting with gloomy attention, while the author held
his peace.

"Don't worry, Master," said Chevalier. "There's no need to change
anything. I shall be able to jump out all right."

Climbing on to the stove, he did indeed succeed in grasping the sill of
the window, and in hoisting himself up until his elbows rested on it, a
feat that had seemed impossible.

A murmur of admiration rose from the stage, the wings, and the house.
Chevalier had produced an astonishing impression by his strength and
agility.

"Splendid!" exclaimed the author. "Chevalier, my friend, that is
perfect. The fellow is as nimble as a monkey. I'll be hanged if any of
you could do as much. If all the parts were in such good hands as that
of Florentin, the play would be lauded to the skies."

Nanteuil, in her box, almost admired him. For one brief second he had
seemed to her more than man, both man and gorilla, and the fear with
which he had inspired her was immeasurably increased. She did not love
him; she had never loved him; she did not desire him; it was a long time
since she had really wanted him; and, for some days past, she had been
unable to imagine herself taking pleasure in any other than Ligny; but
had she at that moment found herself alone with Chevalier she would have
felt powerless, and she would have sought to appease him by her