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At last, when M. Chebe had grown calm, and with good reason, his son-in- law turned with a smile to the illustrious Delobelle, and met the stern, impassive glance which seemed to say, "Well! what of me?" "Ah! Mon Dieu! that is true," thought the poor fellow. Changing at once his chair and his glass, he took his seat opposite the actor. But M. Chebe had not Delobelle's courtesy.
Suddenly the cloud was torn aside, and Delobelle's terrible voice interrupted the dialogue. "Have you not seen your brother?" he asked, in order to avoid the appearance of neglecting him too much. "And you have not seen his wife, either? Ah! you will find her a Madame. Such toilettes, my dear fellow, and such chic! I assure you. They have a genuine chateau at Asnieres. The Chebes are there also.
Delobelle's natural tendency was, before everything, to air his grief, to spread it abroad. He played the role of the unhappy father from one end of the boulevard to the other. He was always to be found in the neighborhood of the theatres or at the actors' restaurant, with red eyes and pale cheeks. He loved to invite the question, "Well, my poor old fellow, how are things going at home?"
At last, when M. Chebe had grown calm, and with good reason, his son-in-law turned with a smile to the illustrious Delobelle, and met the stern, impassive glance which seemed to say, "Well! what of me?" "Ah! Mon Dieu! that is true," thought the poor fellow. Changing at once his chair and his glass, he took his seat opposite the actor. But M. Chebe had not Delobelle's courtesy.
Suddenly the cloud was torn aside, and Delobelle's terrible voice interrupted the dialogue. "Have you not seen your brother?" he asked, in order to avoid the appearance of neglecting him too much. "And you have not seen his wife, either? Ah! you will find her a Madame. Such toilettes, my dear fellow, and such chic! I assure you. They have a genuine chateau at Asnieres. The Chebes are there also.
Delobelle's natural tendency was, before everything, to air his grief, to spread it abroad. He played the role of the unhappy father from one end of the boulevard to the other. He was always to be found in the neighborhood of the theatres or at the actors' restaurant, with red eyes and pale cheeks. He loved to invite the question, "Well, my poor old fellow, how are things going at home?"
The strolling actress! All her happiness in life was lost forever: honor, family, wealth. She was driven from her house, stripped, dishonored. She had undergone all possible humiliations and disasters. That did not prevent her supping with a wonderful appetite and joyously holding her own under Delobelle's jocose remarks concerning her vocation and her future triumphs.
You could go out, leave your armchair once in a while. Your father would take us into the country. You would see the water and the trees you have had such a longing to see." "Oh! the trees," murmured the pale little recluse, trembling from head to foot. At that moment the street door of the house was closed violently, and M. Delobelle's measured step echoed in the vestibule.
Suddenly the cloud was torn aside, and Delobelle's terrible voice interrupted the dialogue. "Have you not seen your brother?" he asked, in order to avoid the appearance of neglecting him too much. "And you have not seen his wife, either? Ah! you will find her a Madame. Such toilettes, my dear fellow, and such chic! I assure you. They have a genuine chateau at Asnieres. The Chebes are there also.
"Frantz! my Frantz!" cried the old strolling player in a melodramatic voice, clutching the air convulsively with his hands. After a long and energetic embrace he presented his guests to one another. "Monsieur Robricart, of the theatre at Metz. "Monsieur Chaudezon, of the theatre at Angers. "Frantz Risler, engineer." In Delobelle's mouth that word "engineer" assumed vast proportions!
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