"He rushed from his box, after a sign of intelligence to La
Zambinella, who lowered her voluptuous eyelids modestly, like a woman
overjoyed to be understood at last. Then he hurried home, in order to
borrow from his wardrobe all the charms it could loan him. As he left
the theatre, a stranger grasped his arm.
"'Beware, Signor Frenchman,' he said in his ear. 'This is a matter of
life and death. Cardinal Cicognara is her protector, and he is no
trifler.'
"If a demon had placed the deep pit of hell between Sarrasine and La
Zambinella, he would have crossed it with one stride at that moment.
Like the horses of the immortal gods described by Homer, the
sculptor's love had traversed vast spaces in a twinkling.
"'If death awaited me on leaving the house, I would go the more
quickly,' he replied.
"'_Poverino!_' cried the stranger, as he disappeared.
"To talk of danger to a man in love is to sell him pleasure.
Sarrasine's valet had never seen his master so painstaking in the
matter of dress. His finest sword, a gift from Bouchardon, the
bow-knot Clotilde gave him, his coat with gold braid, his waistcoat
of cloth of silver, his gold snuff-box, his valuable watch,
everything was taken from its place, and he arrayed himself like a
maiden about to appear before her first lover.
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