Fromont and Risler, vol 4 | Page 9

who had
been witnessing at Beaumarchais some dark-browed melodrama
drenched with gore even to the illustrated headlines of its poster, was
startled by that knock at such an advanced hour.
"Who is there?" he asked in some alarm.
"It is I, Sidonie. Open the door quickly."
She entered the room, shivering all over, and, throwing aside her wrap,
went close to the stove where the fire was almost extinct. She began to
talk at once, to pour out the wrath that had been stifling her for an hour,
and while she was describing the scene in the factory, lowering her
voice because of Madame Delobelle, who was asleep close by, the
magnificence of her costume in that poor, bare, fifth floor, the dazzling
whiteness of her disordered finery amid the heaps of coarse hats and
the wisps of straw strewn about the room, all combined to produce the
effect of a veritable drama, of one of those terrible upheavals of life
when rank, feelings, fortunes are suddenly jumbled together.
"Oh! I never shall return home. It is all over. Free--I am free!"

"But who could have betrayed you to your husband?" asked the actor.
"It was Frantz! I am sure it was Frantz. He wouldn't have believed it
from anybody else. Only last evening a letter came from Egypt. Oh!
how he treated me before that woman! To force me to kneel! But I'll be
revenged. Luckily I took something to revenge myself with before I
came away."
And the smile of former days played about the corners of her pale lips.
The old strolling player listened to it all with deep interest.
Notwithstanding his compassion for that poor devil of a Risler, and for
Sidonie herself, for that matter, who seemed to him, in theatrical
parlance, "a beautiful culprit," he could not help viewing the affair from
a purely scenic standpoint, and finally cried out, carried away by his
hobby:
"What a first-class situation for a fifth act!"
She did not bear him. Absorbed by some evil thought, which made her
smile in anticipation, she stretched out to the fire her dainty shoes,
saturated with snow, and her openwork stockings.
"Well, what do you propose to do now?" Delobelle asked after a pause.
"Stay here till daylight and get a little rest. Then I will see."
"I have no bed to offer you, my poor girl. Mamma Delobelle has gone
to bed."
"Don't you worry about me, my dear Delobelle. I'll sleep in that
armchair. I won't be in your way, I tell you!"
The actor heaved a sigh.
"Ah! yes, that armchair. It was our poor Zizi's. She sat up many a night
in it, when work was pressing. Ah, me! those who leave this world are
much the happiest."

He had always at hand such selfish, comforting maxims. He had no
sooner uttered that one than he discovered with dismay that his soup
would soon be stone-cold. Sidonie noticed his movement.
"Why, you were just eating your supper, weren't you? Pray go on."
"'Dame'! yes, what would you have? It's part of the trade, of the hard
existence we fellows have. For you see, my girl, I stand firm. I haven't
given up. I never will give up."
What still remained of Desiree's soul in that wretched household in
which she had lived twenty years must have shuddered at that terrible
declaration. He never would give up!
"No matter what people may say," continued Delobelle, "it's the noblest
profession in the world. You are free; you depend upon nobody.
Devoted to the service of glory and the public! Ah! I know what I
would do in your place. As if you were born to live with all those
bourgeois--the devil! What you need is the artistic life, the fever of
success, the unexpected, intense emotion."
As he spoke he took his seat, tucked his napkin in his neck, and helped
himself to a great plateful of soup.
"To say nothing of the fact that your triumphs as a pretty woman would
in no wise interfere with your triumph as an actress. By the way, do
you know, you must take a few lessons in elocution. With your voice,
your intelligence, your charms, you would have a magnificent
prospect."
Then he added abruptly, as if to initiate her into the joys of the dramatic
art:
"But it occurs to me that perhaps you have not supped! Excitement
makes one hungry; sit there, and take this soup. I am sure that you
haven't eaten soup 'au fromage' for a long while."
He turned the closet topsy-turvy to find her a spoon and a napkin; and

she took her seat opposite him, assisting him and laughing a little at the
difficulties attending her entertainment. She was less pale already, and
there was a