recalls. One night, at Alencon, the subscribers to the theatre gave him
a gold wreath. Ah! he was a brilliant man in those days, so
lighthearted, so glad to be alive. Those who see him now don't know him,
poor man, misfortune has changed him so. Oh, well! I feel sure that all
that's necessary is a little success to make him young and happy again.
And then there's money to be made managing theatres. The manager at
Nantes had a carriage. Can you imagine us with a carriage? Can you
imagine it, I say? That's what would be good for you. You could go out,
leave your armchair once in a while. Your father would take us into the
country. You would see the water and the trees you have had such a
longing to see."

"Oh! the trees," murmured the pale little recluse, trembling from head
to foot.

At that moment the street door of the house was closed violently, and M.
Delobelle's measured step echoed in the vestibule. There was a moment of
speechless, breathless anguish. The women dared not look at each other,
and mamma's great scissors trembled so that they cut the wire crooked.

The poor devil had unquestionably received a terrible blow. His
illusions crushed, the humiliation of a refusal, the jests of his
comrades, the bill at the cafe where he had breakfasted on credit during
the whole period of his managership, a bill which must be paid--all these
things occurred to him in the silence and gloom of the five flights he
had to climb. His heart was torn. Even so, the actor's nature was so
strong in him that he deemed it his duty to envelop his distress, genuine
as it was, in a conventional tragic mask.

As he entered, he paused, cast an ominous glance around the work-room,