metery board 300 francs--to be
exact, 301 fr. 80 centimes. He had even made plans for a monument, a
broken stele with comedy masks suspended upon it. But no decision had
been come to on this point.

The celebrant blessed the open grave. And the priest and the boy
choristers murmured the responses:

"Requiem aeternam dona ei, Domine."

_"Et lux perpetua luceat ei."_

_"Requiescat in pace."_

_"Amen."_

_"Anima ejus et animae omnium fidelium defunctorum, per misericordiam
Dei, requiescant in pace."_

_"Amen."_

_"De profundis...."_

Each one of those present came forward to sprinkle holy water on the
coffin. Nanteuil stood watching it all, the prayers, the spadefuls of
earth, the sprinkling; then, kneeling apart on the corner of a tomb, she
fervently recited "Our Father who art in heaven...."

Pradel spoke at the graveside. He refrained from making a speech. But
the Theatre de l'Odeon could not allow a young artist beloved of all to
depart without a word of farewell.

"I shall speak therefore, in the name of the great and true-hearted
dramatic family, the words that are in every bosom."

Grouped about the speaker in studied attitudes, the actors listened with
profound knowledge. They listened actively, with their ears, lips, eyes,
arms, and legs. Each listened in his own manner, with nobility,
simplicity, grief or rebelliousness, according to the parts which the
actor was accustomed to play.

No, the director of the theatre would not suffer the valiant actor, who,
in the course of his only too brief career, had shown more than
promise, to depart without a word of farewell.

"Chevalier, impetuous, uneven, restless, imparted to his creations an
individual character, a distinctive physiognomy. We saw him a very few
days ago--a few hours ago, I might say--bring an episodical character
into powerful relief. The author of the play was struck by the
performance. Chevalier was on the verge of success. The sacred flame was
his. There are those who have asked, what was the cause of so cruel an
end? Let us not seek for that cause. Chevalier died of his art; he died
of dramatic fever. He died consumed by the flame which is slowly
consuming all of us. Alas, the stage, of which the public sees only the
smiles, and the tears, as sweet as the smiles, is a jealous master which
demands of its servants an absolute devotion and the most painful
sacrifices, and, at times, claims its victims. In the name of all your
comrade