An absurd fashion that prevails behind the scenes gave the finishing stroke to the provincial’s faltering passion for Adéonne. Eusebe, being mild and modest in his manners, soon won the general favor of the people connected with the theatre, who had a pleasant word for him whenever he made his appearance there. Thus, the second _régisseur_ never failed to say,-- “Good-evening, monsieur: allow me to congratulate you. You sang like an angel the other evening.” Some one else would say,-- “Ah, Monsieur Martin, you ought to be satisfied. They say that your _rôle_ in the new piece is charming.” “Monsieur Martin,” said another, “I speak as a friend. Marie Bachu is striving to injure you in the esteem of the director. She wants the _rôle_ in the new production of Meyerbeer. You know that she is capable of any thing. Distrust her.” An old man, a member of the company, however, did more to irritate Eusebe than all the rest. “M. Eusebe,” said he, “remember that I speak from experience. Without talent, voice and youth go for nothing. You must not slumber. If you knew the public as well as I do, you would not laugh at my prognostications. One fine day a new performer will appear, and the public will no longer look at you. The management will follow the whims of the public.” The corpulent Fontournay,--the discarded lover of Adéonne,--who affected an easy indifference in love-affairs, and would not for any consideration have the world think that he cherished ill feeling towards his fortunate successor, showered compliments upon Eusebe, after the style of the following:-- “My dear sir, your toilet is always superb: it cannot be surpassed.” “M. Martin,” said the first _régisseur_, “you are late: I shall be compelled to fine you.” During his novitiate at the theatre, Eusebe had smiled at this absurd manner of addressing him, as if he and Adéonne were identical. But, as he acquired more experience, such remarks irritated him. One evening, on returning from the theatre with Adéonne, he said,-- “Why are you not an unknown woman,--an unnoticed _médiocrité_? Assuredly, I would be happier. My individuality is confounded with yours; and, though I have no vanity, this practice is extremely humiliating.” “I do not comprehend you. Explain.” “I say,” continued Eusebe, “that my nothingness oppresses me. By your side, I am like the husband of a reigning queen. They do not address a word to me, except to speak of you. This very evening, that fat man you call Fontournay told me that _I_ had a pretty toilet. If a stranger asks who I am, they do not say, ‘That is M. Martin:’ they answer, ‘That is the lover of Adéonne.’” “And does that displease you?” “It does not displease me: it makes me sad.” “Oh, what a child you are! Of whom do you wish them to speak? They presume that you love me, and, therefore, speak of me to you. What is more natural? As to that foolish Fontournay, I forbid your speaking to him at all.”