I do not wish to be understood as representing that society is so positively bad,--only that it is governed by conventional comedy. Nothing is done without an accompaniment of ready-made phrases. When two men engage in a duel, they salute each other, as it is done at the theatre. If a husband finds himself the victim of a deception, he bears himself in the same style and uses the same language he has seen and heard at the theatre. Do not take your daughters to the theatre. They will never believe themselves truly loved unless they are wooed in the style of the actor Lafontaine. Eusebe had not learned to love, to suffer, and to avenge himself according to the rules which society has borrowed from the theatre; and this is why he did not break his glass and indulge in stormy exclamations at the breakfast given at Viroflay. CHAPTER XXIII. It was broad day. Eusebe had been awake for a long time, impatiently awaiting a convenient hour to visit the operatic _artiste_. He thought of going to a splendid store he had noticed on the Boulevards, and of purchasing at that establishment an elegant and fashionable suit. But, upon reflection, he concluded to present himself in the habiliments which he already possessed. “Of what use would that be,” thought the provincial, “since this woman loves nothing, and sells herself to the first comer? The toilet will be unavailing: it is money that is necessary.” It had been sufficient for these unthinking persons to pronounce the word “money” before the poor rustic, to make him as calculating as a miser. As soon as he could with any degree of propriety call at the theatre, Eusebe did so, for the purpose of ascertaining the address of Adéonne. The hour of noon had sounded, when the provincial, with a hesitating voice, said to a young and pretty _femme de chambre_, who opened the door at the singer’s residence,-- “I desire to speak to M’lle Adéonne.” “If monsieur will wait,” said the girl, showing him into a small parlor, “I will go and ask madame if she can receive monsieur. Will monsieur give me his name?” “It is useless,” replied the visitor: “your mistress does not know me. Tell her I come to see her concerning some very important business.” The _salon_ of Adéonne was a very ordinary apartment. Curtains of blue brocatelle and white muslin hung at the windows. The furniture included a piano and a centre-table. In a splendid frame, covered with a bulging glass, were the crowns that an idolizing public had lavished upon the cantatrice.