Paul preceded Eusebe in entering the house, and apprized the two merchants of the revelation his friend had just made. Then occurred a lamentable, but quite common, manifestation of human perversity. These two business-men, who would not for all the world have done a decidedly bad action,—these two plain store-keepers, who even spoke with respect of the woman at the street-stand who had but one lover,—and the artist who had often observed, in passing unfortunate girls in the street, “These unfortunate creatures are more to be pitied than blamed,”—these three men, in fine, who in the whole course of their lives had not failed in showing respect for the gentler sex, indulged in invectives against AdÉonne, with whom neither of them had any personal acquaintance. “Monsieur Martin,” said Lansade, “You are right, my good Lansade,” said Paul Buck. “It grieves me, also, that Eusebe should have been so unfortunate as to be victimized by one of these filles de marbre, these women without heart, without honor, accustomed to excesses, despising all the pleasures of the world, because they have completely exhausted their sensations.” Bonnaud was not the man to allow such an opportunity for airing his eloquence to escape him. He immediately began to deliver a tirade against women in general and actresses in particular. “Ah! Lansade will tell you,” said he, “that I, too, have been an admirer of beauty in my time, and that I was not unsuccessful. I had plenty of money; but never, never was I caught by a comÉdienne. No, indeed: I was not so stupid.” “One moment,” said Eusebe: “Only too well,” replied Paul Buck, earnestly. “Like others of her class, this woman has neither youth, beauty, nor talent. She owes every thing to the claqueurs and her perfumer. This creature, my friend, is deception personified.” “I do not understand you,” murmured Eusebe. “I never take an indirect road to reach an object,” said Lansade. “I will make you comprehend. Your AdÉonne, like others of her class, seeks in the morning to whom she will sell herself in the evening, and in the evening she is only troubled about the price of her affections. Innocent as you may be, you would not be the son of M. Martin if your heart did not swell with indignation at the idea of one of God’s creatures selling herself for gold. Do you comprehend now?” Eusebe did not venture to respond. Paul resumed:— “AdÉonne is, they say, charming; but, you see, to woo persons of that description, it is necessary to be without heart and to have plenty of money.” “You astonish me,” muttered Eusebe. “I do not question what you have told me; and I thank you for having opened my eyes to the truth.” “Bravo!” cried Lansade. Eusebe took advantage of a moment when Lansade was engaged in showing his grounds to Paul and Bonnaud, to escape from the house and fly towards Paris as if pursued by an enemy. Absorbed in thought, he reached the theatre and entered. From the first he fixed his attention upon the beautiful AdÉonne, and lost sight of the audience entirely. If actresses only knew of the raging passions they kindle in the hearts of youthful spectators, they would, perhaps, have a higher estimate of their own attractions. Eusebe returned to his lodgings filled with strange dreams and fired with strange impulses. He sat, musing, long after the candle had burned down into the socket. Suddenly he arose, as if he had at last reached a decision, and exclaimed,— “She sells herself! I will be her purchaser.” |