“Well, then, Mademoiselle Charlotte, the day that you become a great artiste, rich, triumphant, idolized, wealthy--drinking, in deep draughts, all the joys of life--that day Uncle Tonnelier will invoke outraged morals, our aunt will swoon with prudery in the arms of her old lovers, and Madame de la Roche-Jugan will groan and turn her yellow eyes to heaven! But what will all that matter to you?”
“Then, Monsieur, you advise me to lead an immoral life.”
“By no manner of means. I only urge you, in defiance of public opinion, to become an actress, as the only sure road to independence, fame, and fortune. And besides, there is no law preventing an actress marrying and being ‘honorable,’ as the world understands the word. You have heard of more than one example of this.”
“Without mother, family, or protector, it would be an extraordinary thing for me to do! I can not fail to see that sooner or later I should be a lost girl.”
Camors remained silent. “Why do you not answer?” she asked.
“Heavens! Mademoiselle, because this is so delicate a subject, and our ideas are so different about it. I can not change mine; I must leave you yours. As for me, I am a very pagan.”
“How? Are good and bad indifferent to you?”
“No; but to me it seems bad to fear the opinion of people one despises, to practise what one does not believe, and to yield before prejudices and phantoms of which one knows the unreality. It is bad to be a slave or a hypocrite, as are three fourths of the world. Evil is ugliness, ignorance, folly, and baseness. Good is beauty, talent, ability, and courage! That is all.”
“And God?” the girl cried. He did not reply. She looked fixedly at him a moment without catching the eyes he kept turned from her. Her head drooped heavily; then raising it suddenly, she said: “There are sentiments men can not understand. In my bitter hours I have often dreamed of this free life you now advise; but I have always recoiled before one thought--only one.”
“Perhaps the sentiment is not peculiar to me--perhaps it is excessive pride, but I have a great regard for myself--my person is sacred to me. Should I come to believe in nothing, like you--and I am far from that yet, thank God!--I should even then remain honest and true--faithful to one love, simply from pride. I should prefer,” she added, in a voice deep and sustained, but somewhat strained, “I should prefer to desecrate an altar rather than myself!”