was saying, ‘that’s the pitch you have to get and then you can be as restrained as you like. I will feel the emotion. If the emotion isn’t there, it’s no damn good.’
Tedesco leaned against the wall, and bowed his head.
‘It must be by his death: and for my part, I know no personal cause, to spurn at him, But for the general.’
Françoise gave Gerbert a triumphant smile. It seemed so simple, and yet she knew that nothing was more difficult than to awaken in an actor this sudden enlightenment. She looked at the back of Pierre’s head. She would never grow tired of watching him work. Of all her lucky breaks, the one she valued the most was that which gave her the opportunity of collaborating with Pierre. The weariness they shared and their efforts united them more surely than an embrace. There was not one moment of all these harassing rehearsals that was not an act of love.
The conspirators’ scene had gone off without a flaw; Françoise got up from her stall.
‘I’m just going to say something to Elisabeth,’ she said to Gerbert. ‘If I’m needed I’ll be in my office. I haven’t the energy to stay any longer. Pierre hasn’t finished with Portia.’ She hesitated. It was not very nice to leave Xavière, but she had not seen Elisabeth for ages; it was verging on rudeness.
‘Gerbert, I’m leaving my friend Xavière in your hands,’ she said. ‘You might take her back-stage while the scenery’s being changed. She doesn’t know what a theatre is like.’
Xavière said nothing: ever since the beginning of the rehearsal there had been a look of resentment in her eyes.
Françoise put her hand on Elisabeth’s shoulder.
‘Come and smoke a cigarette,’ she said.
‘I’d love to. It’s tyrannical not to allow people to smoke. I’ll have to speak to Pierre about it,’ said Elisabeth with mock indignation.
Françoise stopped in the doorway. A few days earlier, the room had been repainted a light yellow which gave it a welcome rustic look. A faint smell of turpentine still hung in the air.
‘I hope we never leave this old theatre,’ said Françoise, as they climbed the stairs.
‘I wonder if there’s anything left to drink,’ she said, pushing open the door of her office. She opened a cupboard half-filled with books and looked at the bottles lined up on the top shelf. ‘There’s a little whisky here. Would you like that?’
‘Splendid,’ said Elisabeth.
Françoise handed her a glass. There was such warmth in her heart that she felt a burst of affection for Elisabeth. She had the same feeling of comradeship and ease as when, in the past, they had come out of a difficult and interesting class and strolled arm in arm in the lycée yard.
Elisabeth lit a cigarette and crossed her legs.
‘What was the matter with Tedesco? Guimiot insists that he is taking drugs. Do you think that’s true?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ said Françoise, and she blissfully swallowed a long pull of whisky.
‘That little Xavière is not at all pretty,’ said Elisabeth. ‘What are you doing about her? Was everything put right with her family?’
‘I know nothing about that,’ said Françoise. ‘Her uncle may show up any one of these days and kick up a row.’
‘Do be careful,’ said Elisabeth, with an air of importance. ‘You may run into trouble.’
‘Careful of what?’ said Françoise.
‘Have you found her any work?’
‘No. She’s got to get used to things first.’
‘What’s her particular bent?’
‘I don’t think she’ll ever be capable of much work.’
Elisabeth thoughtfully exhaled a puff of smoke.
‘What does Pierre say about it?’
‘They haven’t seen much of each other. He rather likes her.’
This cross-examination was beginning to irritate her. It almost seemed as if Elisabeth were arraigning her. She cut her short.
‘Tell me, is there any news about you?’ she said.
Elisabeth gave a short laugh.
‘Guimiot? During the rehearsal last Tuesday, he came over to talk to me. Don’t you think he’s handsome?’
‘Very handsome. That’s just why we took him on. I don’t know him at all. Is he nice?’
‘He certainly knows how to make love,’ said Elisabeth in a detached tone.
‘You didn’t lose much time,’ said Françoise a little taken aback. Whenever Elisabeth took a liking to a man she began to talk about sleeping with him. But actually, she had remained faithful to Claude for the last two years.
‘You know my principles,’ said Elisabeth gaily. ‘I’m not the sort of woman who is taken. I’m a woman who does the taking. That very first evening, I asked him to spend the night with me. He was flabbergasted.’
‘Does Claude know?’ said Françoise.
Elisabeth very deliberately tapped the ash from her cigarette. Whenever she was embarrassed her movements and her voice became hard and resolute.
‘Not yet, I’m waiting for just the right moment.’ She hesitated. ‘It’s all very complicated.’
‘Your relations with Claude? It’s a long time since you’ve spoken to me about him.’
‘Nothing’s changed.’ said Elisabeth. The corners of her mouth drooped. ‘Only I have changed.’
‘Did you get nowhere when you had it out with him a month ago?’
‘He keeps on telling me the same old thing: that it’s me who has the better part of the bargain. I’m fed up with that old story. I almost said to him: “It’s much too good for me, thank you; I would be satisfied with the other.”’
‘You must have been too conciliatory again,’ said Françoise.
‘Yes, I think so,’ Elisabeth gazed fixedly into space; an unpleasant thought was passing through her mind. ‘He thinks he can make me swallow anything,’ she said. ‘He’ll get a big surprise.’
Françoise studied her with some interest. At this moment she was not consciously striking an attitude.
‘Do you want to break off with him?’ said Françoise.
Something relaxed in Elisabeth’s face. She became matter of fact.
‘Claude is far too attractive a person for me ever to let him go out of my life,’ she said. ‘But I would like to be less in love with him.’
She
