usual phlegm, saying, "Indeed, it would be a good
thing for you." And to a more direct suggestion, not daring to answer,
"No," he took refuge behind such phrases as "I will see"--"Perhaps
later"--"I don't say no"--and finally uttered the unlucky words "I must
see the estimates."

For a whole week the actor had delved away at plans and figures, seated
between his wife and daughter, who watched him in admiration, and
intoxicated themselves with this latest dream. The people in the house
said, "Monsieur Delobelle is going to buy a theatre." On the boulevard,
in the actors' cafes, nothing was talked of but this transaction.
Delobelle did not conceal the fact that he had found some one to
advance the funds; the result being that he was surrounded by a crowd
of unemployed actors, old comrades who tapped him familiarly on the
shoulder and recalled themselves to his recollection--"You know, old
boy." He promised engagements, breakfasted at the cafe, wrote letters
there, greeted those who entered with the tips of his fingers, held very
animated conversations in corners; and already two threadbare authors
had read to him a drama in seven tableaux, which was "exactly what he
wanted" for his opening piece. He talked about "my theatre!" and his
letters were addressed, "Monsieur Delobelle, Manager."

When he had composed his prospectus and made his estimates, he went to
the factory to see Risler, who, being very busy, made an appointment to
meet him in the Rue Blondel; and that same evening, Delobelle, being the
first to arrive at the brewery, established himself at their old table,
ordered a pitcher of beer and two glasses, and waited. He waited a long
while, with his eye on the door, trembling with impatience. Whenever any
one entered, the actor turned his head. He had spread his papers on
the table, and pretended to be reading them, with animated gestures and
movements of the head and lips.

It was a magnificent opportunity, unique in its way. He already fancied
himself acting--for that was the main point--acting, in a theatre of his
own, roles written expressly for him, to suit his talents, in which he
would produce all the effect of--

Suddenly the door opened, and M. Chebe made his appearance amid the
pipe-smoke. He was as surprised and annoyed to find Delobelle there as
Delobelle himself was by his coming. He had written to his son-in-law
that morning that he wished to speak with him on a matter of very
serious importance,