The Petite Duchesse was being rehearsed at the Varietes.

The first act had just been carefully gone through, and the second was about to begin.
Seated in old armchairs in front of the stage, Fauchery and Bordenave were discussing various points while the prompter, Father Cossard, a little humpbacked man perched on a straw-bottomed chair, was turning over the pages of the manuscript, a pencil between his lips.
"Well, what are they waiting for ?" cried Bordenave on a sudden, tapping the floor savagely with his heavy cane.

"Barillot, why don't they begin ?" "It's Monsieur Bosc that has disappeared," replied Barillot, who was acting as second stage manager.' Then there arose a tempest, and everybody shouted for Bosc while Bordenave swore.
"Always the same thing, by God! It's all very well ringing for 'em: they're always where they've no business to be.

And then they grumble when they're kept till after four o'clock." But Bosc just then came in with supreme tranquillity.
"Eh?
What?
What do they want me for?
Oh, it's my turn! You ought to have said so.

All right! Simonne gives the cue: 'Here are the guests,' and I come in.