She made him sit beside her in the dining-room, where a coke fire was burning in the stove. In the lamplight army revolvers and sabres with golden tassels on the sword-knots gleamed upon the wall. They were hung about a woman's cuirass, which was provided with round breast-shields of tin-plate; a piece of armour which Felicie had worn last winter, while still a pupil at the Conservatoire, when taking the part of Joan of Arc at the house of a spiritualistic duchess. An officer's widow and the mother of an actress, Madame Nanteuil, whose real name was Nantean, treasured these trophies. "Felicie is not back yet, Monsieur Chevalier. I don't expect her before midnight. She is on the stage till the end of the play." "I know; I was in the first piece. I left the theatre after the first act of _La Mere confidente_. "Oh, Monsieur Chevalier, why didn't you stay till the end? My daughter would have been so pleased if you had waited. When one is acting one likes to have friends in the house." Chevalier replied ambiguously: "Oh, as to friends, there are plenty of those about." "You are mistaken, Monsieur Chevalier; good friends are scarce. Madame Doulce was there, of course? Was she pleased with Felicie?" And she added, with great humility: "I should indeed be happy if she could really make a hit. It is so difficult to come to the fore in her profession, for a girl who is alone, without support, without influence! And it is so necessary for her to succeed, poor child!" Chevalier did not feel disposed to lavish any pity upon Felicie. With a shrug of the shoulders he replied bluntly: "No need to worry about that. She'll get on. She is an actress heart and soul. She has it in her bones, down to her very legs." Madame Nanteuil indulged in a quiet smile. "Poor child! They are not very plump, her legs. Felicie's health is not bad, but she must not overdo it. She often has fits of giddiness, and sick headaches." The servant came in to place on the table a dish of fried sausage, a bottle of wine, and a few plates. Meanwhile, Chevalier was searching in his mind for some appropriate fashion of asking a question which had been on the tip of his tongue ever since he had set foot on the stairs. He wanted to know whether Felicie was still meeting Girmandel, whose name he never heard mentioned nowadays. We are given to conceiving desires which suit themselves to our condition. Now, in the misery of his existence, in the distress of his heart, he was full of an eager desire that Felicie, who loved him no longer, should love Girmandel, whom she loved but little, and he hoped with all his heart that Girmandel would keep her for him, would possess her wholly, and leave nothing of her for Robert de Ligny. The idea that the girl might be with Girmandel appeased his jealousy, and he dreaded to learn that she had broken with him.