"You know what happened to Casimir Delavigne, at the reading of the Vêpres siciliennes, at the Théâtre-Français?"
"Yes, the piece was refused."
"Not merely was the piece refused, but, as every voter is obliged to give a reason for his refusal, one of the ladies refused 'because the work was badly written.'"
"And Mademoiselle Lévesque refused yours for the same reason?"
"No; but she said that, at the present moment, she had so many new parts, she could not possibly undertake ours."
"The devil take it! It would seem that actresses do not need to study so hard as authors.... Ah! my dear friend, why did you not tell me of my ignorance and that I have everything to learn?"
"Don't put yourself out about that, dear fellow; you will soon learn all you need.... Stay, my mother is beckoning to us to come. Let us go in to dinner."
We went in, and I was introduced to Madame Arnault,—I was already acquainted with Lucien, Telleville and Louis.
I had seen M. Arnault at the famous shooting expedition in Tillet Wood, but I had not had the honour of speaking to him. He had asked to be given a good position in the wood; and he had been put where, as M. Deviolaine had said, the deer could not fail to pass by. M. Arnault, who could not see two gun-lengths off, had wiped the glasses of his spectacles, sat down, produced a memorandum-book and a pencil, and began to write a fable that had been running in his head since the previous day. In a quarter of an hour, he heard a noise in the underwood: he laid down his pocket-book and pencil, took up his gun and pointed it ready for action as soon as the animal should pass by.
"Oh, monsieur," a woman cried out, "don't shoot! You will kill my cow!"