When women who live outside of social laws reach the age of twenty, they regard humanity with a shrug of the shoulder; they despise men, because their weaknesses are well known to them. These women often shed bitter tears, not because they feel their degradation or their servitude, but because they have not masters more deserving of respect. CHAPTER XXVI. Eusebe had deposited his will on the _étagère_ of his mistress. Adéonne regulated his life as the wind blows the leaves that fall upon a tranquil stream. She made him dress according to her taste, gave him the books she loved to read, and conversed with him about every thing that could interest him in the slightest degree. Eusebe seemed to belong entirely to the cantatrice. This ascendency never troubled his thoughts. He was happy; and, as he was only twenty-two years old, he believed in the eternity of this happiness, as devoted but not pious souls have faith in the eternity of pain. This felicity might have endured a long time; for Eusebe, simple and artless, like the majority of those who have been brought up in the country, never inquired into Adéonne’s past life, and jealousy was to him unknown. The infidelity of the cantatrice was alone to be feared. But Adéonne loved with that sincere _furia_ which is characteristic of women who reach maturity before they love at all. There was, therefore, seemingly nothing that threatened to disturb the limpidity of these two existences that appeared to flow in one. It was a companion of the _artiste_ who, in this instance, was the grain of sand which changed the current of destiny. Marie Bachu was a sort of “double” of Adéonne at the theatre and in the affections of Fontournay, the former lover of the cantatrice. On one occasion, thanks to the influence of Fontournay, Marie obtained what she called a _création_, a new part in an old work which had been revised and improved. Adéonne complained to the _régisseur-général_ of the theatre, and declared that under no pretext whatever would she resign her legitimate rights. Marie Bachu begged, supplicated, and stormed; but her adversary was inexorable. “Think you,” said Marie, “that I must be forever content with that which you reject?” “Well,” retorted Adéonne, with a wicked allusion to Fontournay, “you have been trying to accustom yourself to that for a year past: you ought to have succeeded by this time.” The _régisseur_, who comprehended the force of the retort, burst into a laugh. This hilarity rendered the two women still more determined in their enmity. While the vanity of Adéonne was flattered, the anger of Marie was rendered still fiercer. Marie rejoined,-- “If I have your leavings, it is not your fault.” “True,” said Adéonne: “I ordinarily give old things which I can no longer use to my _femme de chambre_.” “You ought to speak more respectfully of a man who lifted you out of misery.” “That would be contrary to all the ideas acquired through him.”