The “OpÉra Comique” and the “Gymnase Dramatique” possess foyers of which the prudery has become proverbial. The life of the vocalist is one of protracted labor, rewarded, however, in a very liberal style. The comparative prudence of lyric artistes can be easily explained. They have little leisure, and a great deal of money to spend. This is why cantatrices more frequently contract honorable alliances with men of position than other women of the theatrical world. A faulty construction adds to the dulness of the evenings spent at the “OpÉra Comique.” The foyer des artistes is small, gloomy, and inconvenient. The visitors are often forced to talk to themselves,—which is a wearisome occupation. Still, notwithstanding the seeming dulness of this narrow place, it is very rare that the evening passes without some incident of an interesting character occurring there, owing to the peculiarities of the company assembled.

In this atmosphere, so novel to him, Eusebe learned more in one month than he could have learned elsewhere in ten years.

Astonishment, doubt, and disenchantment succeeded each other with desolating rapidity. The first of Eusebe’s sentiments which yielded to a forced dissection was his love for AdÉonne. In proportion as the affection of the cantatrice was increased by the success of her lover, whose manly beauty was only equalled by the freshness of his simplicity, that of the young man diminished before stern realities, the existence of which he had never before suspected.

AdÉonne prepared her face for the stage by the use of rouge, powder, &c. Eusebe did not comprehend that the glare of the footlights rendered this necessary.

The cantatrice covered her hands, arms, and shoulders with powder. Eusebe said that she deceived the public; and when she put carmine on her nails and vermilion on her lips, he shrugged his shoulders.

“I like you better without all this plaster,” remarked the provincial.

“My dear Eusebe,” responded the singer, “I also would prefer to dispense with it; but it is necessary——”

“I assure you that without this paint you are a hundred times handsomer.”

“That I do not deny; but we cannot do without it.”

“Why?”

“Because——”

“You can give me no good reason. If you love me, go on the stage, one evening, with your pretty face just as nature made it. You will see the result.”

“You do not understand the necessities of the stage.”

“That is to say that you refuse to grant the first favor I have ever asked of you.”

“Absolutely. Embrace me, and be silent.”

“Thank you: I do not wish to daub my lips.”

AdÉonne went upon the stage with a heavy heart, murmuring,—

“His love is vanishing.”

Eusebe, on his part, was very angry, and insisted that AdÉonne had refused to make a very small sacrifice to please him.

When lovers begin to count the sacrifices refused, and when friends take account of money loaned each other, love and friendship fly to regions where hearts are made of more generous stuff.