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The excerpt represents the core issue or deciding factor on which you must meditate, and is drawn from Scaramouche by Rafael Sabatini: exception of poor Leandre, whose eyes were more melancholy than ever.
They were a happy family that night in the upstairs room of their
inn on the Quai La Fosse - the same inn from which Andre-Louis had
set out some weeks ago to play a vastly different role before an
audience of Nantes. Yet was it so different, he wondered? Had he
not then been a sort of Scaramouche - an intriguer, glib and
specious, deceiving folk, cynically misleading them with opinions
that were not really his own? Was it at all surprising that he
should have made so rapid and signal a success as a mime? Was not
this really all that he had ever been, the thing for which Nature
had designed him?
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