Very soon the nobles and the idlers flocked into the little valley-town, and all was movement and colour and change from noon to midnight. Of course for the theatre I was glad: the house filled nightly; our bright little comic pieces charmed an idle audience of fainéants. I was well received and became popular, and disputed with the Redoute in power of attraction. Of course I was glad of this.
My impressario was well pleased with me, and offered me an increase of salary from midsummer. I even came to be noted enough for people to point me out when I passed into the paths or lingered to hear the music in the pretty Promenade des Sept Heures.
"There!" they would say to one another, "do you see him that quaint, misshapen, ugly fellow? That is Piccinino, the French player. Have you seen him in Le Chevreuil? Myself, I like him better than Ravel." Then would the other answer.
"Yes, he is clever, no doubt; but what an ugly beast! And that pretty creature—she is his wife they say."
And then they would laugh, and the music would seem all discord to me.
Not that I heeded the taunt about my ill looks: I had become long used to that. I knew so well that l was ugly: that could not wound me. It
