manhood and became one of the most popular actors in France.
That distance, that unendurable pain, had been caused by Monluc the monster, who was now entering the circle of Jodelle's telescopic sight. Only seconds now, and his commitment to God would be fulfilled.
Suddenly there was a terrible crack in the air and Jodelle's back was on fire, causing him to drop the rifle. He spun around, stunned to see two men in shirtsleeves, one with a bullwhip, looking down at him.
"It would be a pleasure to kill you, you sick old idiot, but your disappearance would only lead to complications," said the man with the whip.
"You have a wine soaked mouth that never stops chattering craziness. It's better that you go back to Paris and rejoin your army of drunken vagrants. Get out of here, or die!"
"How .. . ? How did you know .. .
"You're a mental case, Jodelle, or whatever name you're using this month," said the guard beside the whip master.
"Youthink we haven't spotted you these last two days, breaking the foliage as you came to this very accessible place with your rifle? You were far better in the old days, I'm told."
"Then kill me, you-sons of bitches! I'd rather die here, knowing I was so close, than go on living!"
"Oh, no, the general wouldn't approve," added the whipper.
"You could have told others what you intended to do, and we don't want people looking for you or your corpse on this property. You're insane, Jodelle, everyone knows that. The courts made it clear."
"They're corrupt! "
"You're paranoid."
"I know what I know!"
"You're also a drunk, well documented by a dozen cafes on the Rive Gauche that've thrown you out. Drink yourself into hell, Jodelle, but get out of here before I send you there now. Get up!
Run as fast as those spindly legs will carry you!"
The curtain rang down on the final scene of the play, a French translation of Shakespeare's Coriolanus, revived by Jean-Pierre Villier, the fifty-year-old actor who was the reigning king of the Paris stage and the French screen as well as a nominee for an American Academy Award as a result of his first film in the United States. The curtain rose and fell and rose again as the large, broad-shouldered Villier acknowledged his audience by smiling and clapping his hands at their acceptance.
It was all about to erupt into madness.
From the rear of the theater an old man in torn, shabby clothes lurched down the center aisle, screaming at the top of his coarse voice. Suddenly he pulled a rifle out of his loose trousers, held by suspenders, causing those in the audience who saw him to panic, the panic instantly spreading throughout the succeeding rows of seats as men pushed women below the line of fire, the vocal chaos reverberating off the walls of the theater. Villier moved quickly, shoving back the few actors and members of the technical crew who had come out onstage.
"An angry critic I can accept, monsieur!" he roared, confronting the deranged old man approaching the stage in a familiar voice that could command any crowd.
"But this is insane! Put down your weapon and we will talk!"
"There is no talk left in me, my son! My only son! I have failed you and your mother. I'm useless, a nothing! I only want you to know that I tried.. .. I love you, my only son, and I tried, but I failed!"
With those words the old man spun his rifle around, the barrel in his mouth, his right hand surging for the trigger. He reached it and blew the back of' his head apart, blood and sinew spraying over all who were near him.
"Who the hell was he?" cried a shaken Jean-Pierre Villier at his dressing-room table, his parents at his side.
"He said such crazy things, then killed himself. Why?"
The elder Villiers, now in their late seventies, looked at each other; both nodded.
"We must talk," said Catherine Villier as she massaged the aching neck of the man she had raised as her son.
"Perhaps with your wife too."
"That's not necessary," interrupted the father.
"He can handle that if he thinks he should."
"You're right, my husband. It is his decision."
"What are you both talking about?"
"We have kept many things from you, my son, things that in the early years might have harmed you-"
"Harmed me?"
"Through no fault of yours, Jean-Pierre. We were an occupied country, the enemy among us constantly searching for those who secretly, violently, opposed the victors, in many cases torturing and