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There had already been some excellent artists who occupied themselves with vignette drawings, like Tony Johannot and Célestin Nanteuil, whose pretty and smart frontispieces are to be found in the old editions of Balzac.
He fired seven revolver shots at him. Two bullets struck our unfortunate comrade in the head and the chest, four went wide, and the fifth grazed Nanteuil below the left breast." "Is Nanteuil wounded?" "Only slightly." "Will Monsieur de Ligny be arrested?" "The affair is to be hushed up, and rightly so. I have, however, the best authority for what I say."
"Once an ingénue, always an ingénue. You are born an Angélique or a Dorine, a Célimène or a Madame Pernelle. On the stage, some women are always twenty, others are always thirty, others again are always sixty. As for you, Mademoiselle Nanteuil, you will always be eighteen, and you will always be an ingénue."
At Easter an event of great importance increased her joy. She was engaged at the Comédie-Française. For some time past, without mentioning the subject, she had been trying for this engagement. Her mother had helped her in the steps she had taken. Madame Nanteuil was lovable now that she was loved. She now wore straight corsets and petticoats that she could display anywhere.
Chevalier had produced an astonishing impression by his strength and agility. "Splendid!" exclaimed the author. "Chevalier, my friend, that is perfect. The fellow is as nimble as a monkey. I'll be hanged if any of you could do as much. If all the parts were in such good hands as that of Florentin, the play would be lauded to the skies." Nanteuil, in her box, almost admired 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.
"It really can't be done, my child Well, after all, look in to-morrow." Having dismissed them, he inquired, as he signed some letters: "Well, Madame Doulce, what news do you bring?" Constantin Marc, appearing with Nanteuil, hastily exclaimed: "What about my scenery, Monsieur Pradel?" Thereupon he described for the twentieth time the landscape, upon which the curtain ought to rise.
Nanteuil had no part in the play. But she had had business at the theatre that day, and, as she had been informed that Marie-Claire was execrable in the part of General Malet's wife, she had come to have a peep at her, concealed in the depths of a box. The great scene of the second act was about to begin.
He says that I am undoubtedly right. It is a genuine Nanteuil a proof before letters." "Ah! And you have just picked it up cheap? Picked it up, eh?" "No, no, quite the contrary," Marvin replied, in a confidential whisper. "Stolen dear, dear! I am sorry to hear that, Septimus." And Septimus Marvin broke into the jerky, spasmodic laugh of one who has not laughed for long perhaps for years.
Having said her prayer, Nanteuil, without waiting to hear Pradel's speech, jumped into a carriage in order to join Robert de Ligny, who was waiting for her in front of the Montparnasse railway station. Amid the throng of passers-by they shook hands, gazing at one another without a word. More than ever did they feel that they were bound together. Robert loved her. He loved her without knowing it.
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