Then he poured forth a string of nebulous ideas: "Murder and bloodshed, that may be! But amusing bloodshed, and comical murder. Life is a burlesque catastrophe, a terrible comedy, the mask of carnival over blood-stained cheeks. That is what life means to the artist; the artist on the stage, and the artist in action." Nanteuil uneasily sought a meaning in these confused phrases. The actor continued excitedly: "Life is yet another thing: it is the flower and the knife, it is to see red one day and blue the next, it is hatred and love, ravishing, delightful hatred, cruel love." "Monsieur Chevalier," asked Constantin Marc in the quietest of tones, "does it not seem to you natural to be a murderer, and do you not think that it is merely the fear of being killed that prevents us from killing?" Chevalier replied in deep, pensive tones: "Most certainly not! It would not be the fear of being killed that would prevent me from killing. I have no fear of death. But I feel a respect for the life of others. I am humane in spite of myself. I have for some time past been seriously considering the question which you have just asked me, Monsieur Constantin Marc. I have pondered over it day and night, and I know now that I could not kill any one.'" At this, Nanteuil, filled with joy, cast upon him a look of contempt. She feared him no longer, and she could not forgive him for having alarmed her. She rose. "Good evening; I have a headache. Good-bye till to-morrow, Monsieur Constantin Marc." And she went out briskly. Chevalier ran after her down the corridor, descended the stage staircase behind her, and rejoined her by the stage doorkeeper's box. "Felicie, come and dine with me to-night at our cabaret. I should be so glad if you would! Will you?" "Good gracious, no!" "Why won't you?" "Leave me alone; you are bothering me!" She tried to escape. He detained her. "I love you so! Don't be too cruel to me!" Taking a step towards him, her lips curling back from her clenched teeth, she hissed into his ear: "It's all over, over, over! You hear me? I am fed up with you." Then, very gently and solemnly, he said: "It is the last time that we two shall speak together. Listen, Felicie, before there is a tragedy I ought to warn you. I cannot compel you to love me. But I do not intend that you shall love another. For the last time I advise you not to see Monsieur de Ligny again, I shall prevent your belonging to him." "You will prevent me? You? My poor dear fellow!" In a still more gentle tone he replied: "I mean it; I shall do it. A man can get what he wants; only he must pay the price." CHAPTER V