But to return to the Conservatoire. Nearly all the pupils had gone away, and I remained quiet and embarrassed on my bench. Marie Lloyd came and sat down by me.
“Are you unhappy?” she asked.
“Yes,” I answered. “I wanted the first prize, and you have it. It is unjust.”
“I do not know whether it is just or not,” answered Marie Lloyd, “but I assure you that it is not my fault.”
I could not help laughing at this.
“Shall I come home with you to luncheon?” she asked, and her beautiful eyes grew moist and beseeching. She was an orphan and unhappy, and on this day of triumph she felt the need of a family. My heart began to melt with pity and affection. I threw my arms round her neck, and we all four went away together—Marie Lloyd, Mme. Guérard, Mlle. De Brabender, and I. My mother had sent me word that she had gone on home.
In the cab my “don’t-care” character won the day once more, and we chatted gayly about one and another of the people we had seen during the morning. “Oh, how ridiculous such and such a person was!” “Did you see her mother’s bonnet?” “And old Estebenet, did you see his white gloves? He must have stolen them from some policeman!” And hereupon we laughed like idiots, and then began again. “And that poor Châtelain had had his hair curled!” said Marie Lloyd. “Did you see his head?”
I did not laugh any more, though, for this reminded me of how my own hair had been uncurled, and that it was thanks to that I had not won the first prize for tragedy.
On reaching home we found my mother, my aunt, my godfather, our old friend Meydieu, Mme. Guérard’s husband, and my sister Jeanne with her hair all curled. This gave me a pang, for she had straight hair, and it had been curled to make her prettier, although she was charming without that, and the curl had been taken out of my hair, so that I had looked uglier.
My mother spoke to Marie Lloyd with that charming and distinguished indifference peculiar to her. My godfather made a great fuss over her, for success was everything to this bourgeois. He had seen my young friend a hundred times before, and had not been struck by her beauty, nor yet touched by her poverty, but on this particular day he assured us that he had for a long time predicted Marie Lloyd’s triumph. He then came to me, put his two hands on my shoulders, and held me facing him.