“I say, though,” the architect interrupted, “that girl ... I don’t know how we came to speak of you ... she knows you, Lily!”
“That’s right! Now I have mountebanks among my acquaintances!” said Lily, with an air of disgust. “Get out of this, I say!... You wanted Jimmy; there he is, look!”
And Lily, furious, jerked her head toward the passage.
When Lily went home again she did not even think of what she had just heard. The death of the Paras; the Graces ... Nunkie, that old rogue!... She forgot all about it.... She saw only that: the theater, the aerobike, the theater! Ah! she had it in her blood, in spite of those ugly stories! Even outside, when, upon Jimmy’s advice, she went to take the air in the parks, under the great blue sky, she regretted the dark stage, the canvas landscapes of the back-drops; the open-air scenery appeared paltry to her, beside it. Between her and nature there was always the aerobike! In a few days ... was it possible? She clenched her little hands over an imaginary handle-bar, hardened her pigeon’s eggs, made pedaling movements, in spite of herself, on the floor of the tram-car which she very soon took to get back to the theater again! It was her life, her joy, her suffering, her good and evil ... it was her field, her very own field, the field which she had sown with sweat that she might reap fame and glory.
And, when she returned, she reveled in that smell of hot glue and tar and scent; oh, it was much nicer than the country! And more interesting, too: all the little drama that was being enacted among the Graces, for instance; Nunkie had lost his wonderful reputation, he was surrounded with less reverence; the story of the confiscated letters was beginning its round of the world. It was all very well for him to spoil his dear girls, to double his attentions, to treble the doses of bromide; there was no doubt about it, the troupe’s days were numbered. The boy-violinist and others were making love to the Three Graces, fresh troupes were being formed, three more, any number! And they all talked freely, turned their backs without hesitation upon Nunkie, who was prowling round:
“Well?” he asked. “What’s the mystery?”
“We were discussing marriage, Nunkie,” the Graces answered.
“That’s right, my children,” he replied, with a sigh.
Lily, in all these plots and counter-plots, knew how to remain neuter and to be very nice to everybody; she had been trained from childhood to keep her opinions to herself; none of her damned business, all that; something that might have been foreseen and expected ... like the death of old Martello, which Jimmy told her of.... Yes, the old man had flickered out in his bed just like that....
But she needed all her composure, indeed, when Jimmy told her that those dear little Bambinis ... ah, there was bad news for them, the poor loves!