infernal "coulisses" self-love has no sex; the
artist who triumphs, be it man or woman, has all the other men and women
against him or her. Then, as to money, however many engagements Florine
may have, her salary does not cover the costs of her stage toilet,
which, in addition to its costumes, requires an immense variety of long
gloves, shoes, and frippery; and all this exclusive of her personal
clothing. The first third of such a life is spent in struggling and
imploring; the next third, in getting a foothold; the last third, in
defending it. If happiness is frantically grasped, it is because it
is so rare, so long desired, and found at last only amid the odious
fictitious pleasures and smiles of such a life.

As for Florine, Raoul's power in the press was like a protecting
sceptre; he spared her many cares and anxieties; she clung to him less
as a lover than a prop; she took care of him like a father, she deceived
him like a husband; but she would readily have sacrificed all she had
to him. Raoul could, and did do everything for her vanity as an actress,
for the peace of her self-love, and for her future on the stage. Without
the intervention of a successful author, there is no successful actress;
Champmesle was due to Racine, like Mars to Monvel and Andrieux. Florine
could do nothing in return for Raoul, though she would gladly have been
useful and necessary to him. She reckoned on the charms of habit to
keep him by her; she was always ready to open her salons and display the
luxury of her dinners and suppers for his friends, and to further his
projects. She desired to be for him what Madame de Pompadour was to
Louis XV. All actresses envied Florine's position, and some journalists
envied that of Raoul.

Those to whom the inclination of the human mind towards chance,
opposition, and contrasts is known, will readily understand that after
ten years of this lawless Bohemian life, full of ups and downs, of fetes
and sheriffs, of orgies and forced sobrieties, Raoul was attracted to
the idea of another love,--to the gentle, harmonious house and presence
of a great lady, just as the Comtesse Felix instinctively desired to
introduce the torture of great emotions into a life made monotonous by
happiness. This law of life is the law of all arts, which exist only by
contrasts. A work done without this incentive is the loftiest expression
of genius, just as the cloister is the highest expression of the
Christian life.

On ret