“Say, rather, that you are still irritated at his desertion.” “_Ma belle_,” said Adéonne, calmly, but with trembling lips, “do not jest. You know very well that I turned your Fontournay out-of-doors. You also know that for six months I was so plainly weary of his company that he thought it a great favor to get a pleasant look from me. You know this: everybody knows it: so you must sing another tune. However, I bear no malice. You desire this _rôle_. Take it; I will resign my claim to it; but, for Heaven’s sake, do not weary me any more with your ridiculous friend. Leave me to possess mine in peace. He is as noble as yours is vile, as young as yours is old, and as handsome as yours is ugly.” “_Mes enfants_,” interrupted the _régisseur_, “do not devour each other entirely: it would be a pity.” He then drew Adéonne aside. “Handsome, eh!” murmured Marie Bachu, so that she could be heard. “That is doubtless the reason why we never see him.” On returning home, Adéonne said to Eusebe,-- “This evening, my dear, I wish you to accompany me to the theatre.” CHAPTER XXVII. Theatrical performers, and operatic _artistes_ above all, dine at a comparatively early hour. At five o’clock, Adéonne made Eusebe kneel down before her, while she arranged his hair with the care of a mother who dresses the hair of her son. “These locks are soft and silky, Eusebe,” said she: “do you know that they are finer than my own?” “That only proves that they will not last.” “They harmonize well with the hue of your complexion, which people call olive,--I know not why.” “Because olives are green.” “You are foolish. I do not want them to mock him whom I love. My dear, we are going into society. I hope you will be careful how you talk, or they may take you for a character in a forgotten vaudeville. Now let me tie your cravat. There! you are charming. Let us go.” The loving couple left the house arm in arm. For about an hour the cantatrice promenaded with Eusebe on the Boulevards, where pedestrians frequently turned to scrutinize this handsome but somewhat curiously assorted pair. “All the ladies are looking at you,” said Adéonne. “I was sure they would think you handsome.” “I also was sure of it,” responded Eusebe, with simplicity, “since you loved me.” The cantatrice looked at her lover with profound tenderness. “If you were ugly, I would love you all the same; for no one but you can say such agreeable things.” “What have I said?” “You have given expression to the most delightful flattery.” “I was not conscious of it.” “Fortunately, it was only a compliment.” “And the difference?” “The difference? There are two kinds of compliments,--those which are sought for, and those that are offered gratuitously; those which spring from the heart, and those which come merely from the lips. The one class are used but once for the being beloved; the others are employed at all times and by everybody,--they are current coin, of which men have a full supply.”