“Big words!” he said still gaily. “I am off. Don’t talk too much ill of your friend Jacques, and do not monopolize her too much,” he added, turning to me; “she must do a little flirting to be a success with the men.”
He went away with the renewed desire, of which he had spoken to me, shining in his eyes. Camille had bowed as he went without speaking, but with a smile in which I, who knew her so well, could read so much suffering and disgust. She fanned herself nervously, while I looked at her with an emotion which I did not endeavour to conceal. We were in our out-of-the-way corner like two outcasts, though our sorrowful tête-à-tête was very brief! Senneterre was already on his way towards us from the other end of the hall with a young man who had asked to be introduced to Camille. Those two minutes sufficed for us to exchange a few phrases which redoubled my impression of danger. It had continually increased ever since I had entered the house.
“So you are come,” the actress said, “thank you;” and in a supplicating tone she added: “Do not leave me this evening, if you love me a little.”
“Don’t you feel well?” I asked.
“I have presumed too much upon my strength,” she replied. “I was quite well up to the moment I was presented to this woman and heard her voice. Oh! that voice! Then Jacques came in, and I felt ill. Look, he is going to her. They are talking, and are alone. Go and tell him that he must not trample too much upon my heart. I am exhausted, and can bear no more.”
She pronounced these last few words hesitatingly, and forced herself to smile, a convulsive smile like a nervous tremor. I do not think that I have ever seen her so beautiful. The absence of jewels in the midst of these well-dressed women and the simplicity of her toilette in these luxurious surroundings gave her something like a tragic character. I had no time to reply, for the professional “beater” was there with his stereotyped phrase—
“Mademoiselle, allow me to present to you my young friend, Roland de Bréves, one of your most passionate admirers.”
“With what selections are you going to charm us with this evening, mademoiselle?” the young noodle asked Camille, who was still vibrating with emotion. “It is rare good fortune to hear you in society; Madam de Bonnivet will make many people jealous.”
“Really there is no occasion for it, sir,” Camille replied, and to correct his impertinence added: “I shall give a scene from La Duchesse Blue with Bressoré, and then three or four fragments. Besides, your curiosity will soon be satisfied, for I can see Bressoré coming. He was acting this evening in the new play, but he has got away early. What luck!”
“What good fortune for us,” her questioner said, “who will hear you all the sooner!”