Chevalier, following up his idea, inquired:
"You would hardly say that Girmandel was still a young man, would you?"
"He is not old," said Madame Nanteuil. "A man is not old at forty."
"Oh, dear no," replied Madame Nanteuil, quite calmly.
Chevalier became thoughtful and was silent. Madame Nanteuil began to nod. Then, being aroused from her somnolence by the servant, who brought in the salt-cellar and the water-bottle, she inquired:
"And you, Monsieur Chevalier, is all well with you?"
No, all was not well with him. The critics were out to "down" him. And the proof that they had combined against him was that they all said the same thing; they said his face lacked expression.
"My face lacking in expression!" he cried indignantly. "They should have called it a predestined face. Madame Nanteuil, I aim high, and it is that which does me harm. For example, in _La Nuit du 23 octobre_, which is being rehearsed now, I am Florentin: I have only six lines; it's a washout. But I have increased the importance of the character enormously. Durville is furious. He deliberately crabs all my effects."
Madame Nanteuil, placid and kindly, found words to comfort him. Obstacles there were, no doubt, but in the end one overcame them. Her own daughter had fallen foul of the ill-will of certain critics.
"Half-past twelve!" said Chevalier gloomily. "Félicie is late."
Madame Nanteuil supposed that she had been detained by Madame Doulce.
"Madame Doulce as a rule undertakes to see her home, and you know she never hurries herself."
Chevalier rose, as if to take his leave, to show that he remembered his manners. Madame Nanteuil begged him to stay.
"Don't go; Félicie won't be long now. She will be pleased to find you here. You will have supper with her."
Madame Nanteuil dozed off again in her chair. Chevalier sat gazing in silence at the clock hanging on the wall, and as the hand travelled across the dial he felt a burning wound in his heart, which grew bigger and bigger, and each little stroke of the pendulum touched him to the quick, lending a keener eye to his jealousy, by recording the moments which Félicie was passing with Ligny. For he was now convinced that they were together. The stillness of the night, interrupted only by the muffled sound of the cabs bowling along the boulevard, gave reality to the thoughts and images which tortured him. He could see them.