Helia stood transfigured, superb with energy. She was no longer a child driven by cuffs and blows; she was the young woman awakened by love, conscious of her rights and her duties. Phil’s soul was in her. Helia spoke in a low tone, and her attitude was so calm that the man stopped in amazement.
“Hein! what is it?” he stammered.
“Leave this room!” said Helia, “or I will have the police arrest you. You have no right over me! From to-day you shall keep your hands off me! Leave the room,” she repeated.
As if her gesture had the power of a charm, the man went out, dumb with surprise and raising his elbow as if to protect himself.
Phil was filled with enthusiasm at the sight of Helia’s self-deliverance. His counsels had fallen on good ground. He had awakened in Helia a spirit of independence, and this made him feel an increase of responsibility.
At midnight, while the artistes were supping at the inn, Phil saw Helia in the shadow of the wagons. It was there that he met her henceforth, for after this he went no more to the dressing-room. Their conversations took place in the peace of night; they said a thousand things to each other, talking, like children, of whatever passed through their heads, drifting with the current which bore both onward.
“I don’t like the career they have chosen for me,” said Phil! “they want me to be a diplomat. Later on I wish to be an artist—a painter or sculptor; a painter, I think. My guardian will never be willing. But never mind! I will go to Paris—I will make my way by myself!”
“Who knows if I shall ever see you again!” said Helia. “What will become of me?”
“Helia, you shall come to me as soon as I have earned money.”
“Paris,” said Helia, dreamily. “You will be all alone there when you arrive. Ah! if I only knew some one! At any rate, I will give you the address of a hotel for artistes where I have been myself with Cemetery, and a letter for Suzanne, whom I knew at school. Suzanne is an actress. We write to each other sometimes.”