"Did you invent that precious story, doctor?" inquired Nanteuil, pinning a rose in her bodice.
The doctor protested that he had not invented a word of it. On the contrary, he had, he said, left out part of the story.
"So much the better?" exclaimed Nanteuil. "For I must tell you that the person who did invent it is not particularly brilliant."
"He is dead," remarked Trublet.
Nanteuil once more expressed her disgust of her fellow-actress, but Madame Doulce, who was prudent and occasionally took déjeuner with Jeanne Perrin, changed the subject.
"Well, my darling, so you've got the part of Angélique. Only remember what I told you: your gestures should be somewhat restrained, and you yourself a little stiff. That is the secret of the ingénue. Beware of your charming natural suppleness. Young girls in a 'stock' piece ought to be just a trifle doll-like. It's good form. The costume requires it. You see, Félicie, what you must do above all, when you are playing in La Mère confidente, which is a delightful play——"
"Oh," interrupted Félicie, "so long as I have a good part, I don't care a fig for the play. Besides, I am not particularly in love with Marivaux——What are you laughing at, doctor? Have I put my foot in it? Isn't La Mère confidente by Marivaux?"
"To be sure it is!"