ed now, I am Florentin: I have only six lines; it's a
washout. But I have increased the importance of the character
enormously. Durville is furious. He deliberately crabs all my effects."

Madame Nanteuil, placid and kindly, found words to comfort him.
Obstacles there were, no doubt, but in the end one overcame them. Her
own daughter had fallen foul of the ill-will of certain critics.

"Half-past twelve!" said Chevalier gloomily. "Felicie is late."

Madame Nanteuil supposed that she had been detained by Madame Doulce.

"Madame Doulce as a rule undertakes to see her home, and you know she
never hurries herself."

Chevalier rose, as if to take his leave, to show that he remembered his
manners. Madame Nanteuil begged him to stay.

"Don't go; Felicie won't be long now. She will be pleased to find you
here. You will have supper with her."

Madame Nanteuil dozed off again in her chair. Chevalier sat gazing in
silence at the clock hanging on the wall, and as the hand travelled
across the dial he felt a burning wound in his heart, which grew bigger
and bigger, and each little stroke of the pendulum touched him to the
quick, lending a keener eye to his jealousy, by recording the moments
which Felicie was passing with Ligny. For he was now convinced that they
were together. The stillness of the night, interrupted only by the
muffled sound of the cabs bowling along the boulevard, gave reality to
the thoughts and images which tortured him. He could see them.

Awakened with a start by the sound of singing on the pavement below,
Madame Nanteuil returned to the thought with which she had fallen
asleep.

"That's what I am always telling Felicie; one mustn't be discouraged.
One should not lose heart. We all have our ups and downs in life."

Chevalier nodded acquiescence.

"But those who suffer," he said, "only get what they deserve. It needs
but a moment to free oneself from all one's troubles. Isn't it so?"

She admitted the fact; certainly there were such things as sudden
opportunities, especially on the stage.

"Heaven knows," he continued in a deep, brooding voice, "it's not the
stage I am worrying about. I know I shall make a name for myself one
day, and a big one. But what's the good of being a great artist if one
isn't happy? There are stupid worries which are terrible! Pains that
throb in your temples with strokes as even and as regular as the ticking
of that clock, till they drive you mad!"

He ceased speaking;