“But Jacques has not told me that,” I said in such an astonished way that she shrugged her fine shoulders. What disillusion there was already in that sad and gentle gesture which indicated that she clearly judged the man whom she continued to love so much.
“The story was without doubt not sufficiently interesting for him to recollect. It is so commonplace, comprising as it does the death of the unfortunate man who killed himself in a fit of despair. The least commonplace part of the story is that mother sacrificed her fortune to preserve my father’s honour. It is true it was a fortune he had settled upon her and it had come from him. That makes no difference. There are not many women in the world of wealth which Jacques loves so dearly, who would do that, are there? Every debt was paid, and we are left with an income of 7,000 francs, on which we lived till last year, when I appeared at the Vaudeville.”
“How did the idea of going on the stage enter your mind?” I asked.
“You want a confession,” she said, “and you shall have one. Is it possible to say why one’s existence turns in this or that direction? A person would not go out in the street but for the thought of events which lead to a meeting.” She smiled as she uttered this phrase which awakened in me a very clear echo. I realized that it was one of those chances which had made me acquainted with her, for the destruction of my peace of mind. She went on—
“If I believe in anything, you see, it is in destiny. Among the few persons we continued to meet was a friend of my father’s, a great lover of the theatre. He is dead now. He listened to me one day, without my knowing it, reciting a piece of poetry I had learnt by heart. Our old friend spoke to me of his memory, which was failing him. He advised me to cultivate mine. This little chance shaped my life. He realized that I recited those few verses well. For amusement he gave me others to learn. I was fifteen years old, and he treated me without any more ceremony than he would his own niece. After my second effort at reciting he had a long conversation with mother. We were poor. We might become worse off still. We had nothing to expect from our relatives, who had been very hard on my poor father. A talent is a livelihood, and to-day the stage is a career like painting and literature. The days of prejudice are past. You can imagine the arguments of the old Parisian and my mother’s objections. But the latter could not outweigh the authority our friend had acquired over us by remaining faithful to us. We had been so utterly deserted by our other friends, though perhaps it was partly our own fault. Mother was so proud! The joy I displayed when I was consulted was what finally convinced mother. That was how I first went to a professor and then to the Conservatoire, which I left three years ago with two first prizes. An engagement at the Odéon was followed directly by one at the Vaudeville; and now you know as much as I do about Camille Favier.”
“About Mademoiselle Favier,” I corrected her, “but not about Camille.”
“Ah, Camille!” she replied, releasing my arm as if an irresistible instinct made her recoil. “Camille is a person who has never had much good sense, and now she has still less than she used to have,” she added with a melancholy and arch nod of the head, a gesture I always noticed her make in times of emotion.
“Without a doubt I take after my dear father who had no good sense at all, I have been told, for he married mother for love, and that his brothers, sisters and cousins never forgave. Poor father and poor Camille! But you can see”—she said this with a smile—“that I have no good sense at all by my telling you this after an acquaintance of two hours. I have a theory, however, that friendship is like love, it either comes all at once or not at all.”
“In my case you have realized that it has come?” I said to her.
“Yes,” she said with almost grave simplicity as she took my arm again and pressed it against her own. “You would like to ask me about my feelings for Jacques? I guessed as much, and you dare not. I should like to explain to you, but I don’t know how. As I have begun to tell you everything, I will try. It seems to me that you will not think so badly of me afterwards, and I don’t want you to think badly of me. I must go back to the beginning again. I have told you how and why I entered the Conservatoire. It is a curious but not very well-known place where there is everything, from the very good to the very bad, corruption and artlessness, intrigues, youth, exasperated vanity, and enthusiasm. During the years I spent there, this enthusiasm for the stage was my romance. Yes, I had the frenzy and fever for being one day a great actress, and I worked. How I worked! Then as one does not reach the age of eighteen without dreaming, without ears to hear and eyes to see, on the day I left there, you can understand, if I was virtuous it was not the virtue of ignorance. I had seen, I think, as many ugly happenings as I shall see in the course of my life. I shall not be courted more brutally than I was by some of my companions, nor more hypocritically than by some of the professors. I shall not receive more depraved advice than I did then from some of my friends, nor less enchanting confidences. But my environment has never had much influence over me. What I was told went in at one ear and out of the other. I listen to the little inner voice of conscience which speaks to me when I am alone. It was this little voice which whispered to me 'yes’ at once when our old friend spoke of the stage. It was the little voice which prevented me succumbing to the temptations by which I was surrounded. Don’t you think the counsels of this little voice were very good ones? Think what a task it was for a girl of my age: always repeating words of love, putting the accents of love into my voice, and giving to my face and gestures the expressions of love. At this acting, a woman ends by catching the fever of the parts she plays. A wish to taste on one’s own account the sentiments one has tried so often to depict arises. I cannot explain that to you, but without a doubt I was born for the stage, where I cannot play a part without almost becoming that person I represent, and when I have to say to another character