She inquired: "Where do I make my entrance from?" "From the right." "All right." And she read: "'Cousin, I was so happy when I awoke this morning, I do not know why it was. Can you perhaps tell me?'" Delage read his reply: "'It may be, Cecile, that it was due to a special dispensation of Providence or of fate. The God who loves you suffers you to smile, in the hour of weeping and the gnashing of teeth.'" "Nanteuil, my darling, you cross the stage," said Romilly. "Delage, stand aside a bit to let her pass." Nanteuil crossed over. "'Terrible days, do you say, Aimeri? Our days are what we make them. They are terrible for evil-doers only.'" Romilly interrupted: "Delage, efface yourself a trifle; be careful not to hide her from the audience. Once more, Nanteuil." Nanteuil repeated: "'Terrible days, do you say, Aimeri? Our days are what we make them. They are terrible for evil-doers only.'" Constantin Marc no longer recognized his handiwork, he could no longer even hear the sound of his beloved phrases, which he had so often repeated to himself in the Vivarais woods. Dumbfounded and dazed, he held his peace. Nanteuil tripped daintily across the stage, and resumed reading her part: "'You will perhaps think me very foolish, Aimeri; in the convent where I was brought up, I often used to envy the fate of the victims.'" Delage took up his cue, but he had overlooked a page of the manuscript: "'The weather is magnificent. Already the guests are strolling about the garden.'" It became necessary to start all over again. "'Terrible days, do you say, Aimeri....'" And so they proceeded, without troubling to understand, but careful to regulate their movements, as if studying the figures of a dance. "In the interests of the play, we shall have to make some cuts," said Pradel to the dismayed author. And Delage continued: "'Do not blame me, Cecile: I felt for you a friendship dating from childhood, one of those fraternal friendships which impart to the love which springs from them a disquieting appearance of incest.'" "Incest," shouted Pradel. "You cannot let the word 'incest' remain, Monsieur Constantin Marc. The public has susceptibilities of which you have no idea. Moreover, the order of the two speeches which follow must be transposed. The optics of the stage require it." The rehearsal was interrupted. Romilly caught sight of Durville who, in a recess, was telling racy stories. "Durville, you can go. The second act will not be rehearsed to-day." Before leaving, the old actor went up to Nanteuil, to press her hand. Judging that this was the moment to assure her of his sympathy, he summoned up the tears to his eyes, as anyone condoling with her would have done in his place. But he did it admirably. The pupils of his eyes swam in their orbits, like the moon amid clouds. The corners of his lips were turned down in two deep furrows which prolonged them to the bottom of his chin. He appeared to be genuinely afflicted.