“I would like to see you in my place, monsieur, forced to go through the same routine for four months, and at the fifth, when you think you have finished, discover that your care and labor have been wasted.” “Now, my dear Bruin,” said Adéonne, “do not be ferocious: we will be very docile.” “I am not ferocious. But why the devil does monsieur meddle with matters that do not concern him?” “Do not pay any attention to him. He is not a musician,” responded the cantatrice. After the lesson, Adéonne took Eusebe aside. “My dear,” said she, “you do not understand theatrical affairs. We are going to rehearse on the stage. I beg you will not make any observation: you would only render yourself ridiculous, and me also. Go into the auditorium, and be silent.” “I will be silent,” responded Eusebe, who seated himself in the most obscure corner of the auditorium, which seemed to him a vast tomb. “To your places!” cried the _régisseur_. “Attention! Adéonne Pepita enters. Not there:--from this side. You are to go there.” Adéonne commenced:-- “Enfin le jour reluit, Lelio va venir; Rien ne saurait le retenir, je pense. Le ciel en ce moment commence à s’éclaircir, Mon cœur joyeux renaît a l’espérance.” _Régisseur._--“No, no: it is not so.” _Adéonne._--“But----” _Régisseur._--“But there are no buts. You say, ‘_Enfin le jour reluit_.’ You must not look at the auditorium: your eyes ought to be turned towards the horizon. You continue, ‘_Lelio va venir_.’ It is requisite that here the most complete satisfaction should sparkle in your look.” _Adéonne._--“It will sparkle at night.” _Régisseur._--“I know all about that. You _artistes_ always say so, and at the representation nothing sparkles. As you proceed, you should look at the skies, instead of your gaiters, as you do.” _Adéonne._--“I cannot recognize the skies of yonder canvas.” _Régisseur._--“That is no reason. But proceed.” And so on, through a rehearsal full of vexation for the fastidious _régisseur_ and wearisome practice for Adéonne and the other performers. Eusebe was present every day at these tedious but, to him, instructive rehearsals. His native sagacity, the experience he had already acquired, and his frequent contact with the artistic world, led him at last to one painful truth. Adéonne was not a great _artiste_: he had made of her a divinity; she was only an ordinary woman, who could not even place herself properly on the stage without special instructions. A woman may be loved for three things:--for her superior intellect,--a love serious, but rare; for her beauty,--a love vulgar and brief; for the qualities of her heart,--a love lasting, but monotonous. The superiority of Adéonne had vanished. Her beauty remained; but her lover was accustomed to that. She could still boast of her heart; but she had either too much or too little of that to retain her hold upon the affections of Eusebe. CHAPTER XXX.