it was,’ said Pierre. ‘That changed the whole run of the act.’ He bit into a sandwich. ‘Haven’t you had dinner? Would you like a sandwich?’
‘Of course I’d like a sandwich,’ said Françoise. She took one and looked at Pierre reproachfully. ‘You don’t eat enough. You’re looking very pale.’
‘I don’t want to put on weight,’ said Pierre.
‘Caesar wasn’t skinny,’ said Françoise. She smiled. ‘You might ring through to the concierge and ask her to get us a bottle of Château Margaux.’
‘That’s not such a bad idea,’ said Pierre. He picked up the receiver, and Françoise curled up on the couch. This was where Pierre slept when he did not spend the night with her. She was very fond of this small dressing-room.
‘There, you shall have your wine.’
‘I’m so happy,’ said Françoise. ‘I thought I’d never get to the end of that third act.’
‘You’ve done some excellent work,’ said Pierre. He leaned over and kissed her. Françoise threw her arms around his neck. ‘It’s you,’ she said. ‘Do you remember what you said to me at Delos? That you wanted to introduce something absolutely new to the theatre? Well, this time you’ve done it.’
‘Do you really think so?’ said Pierre.
‘Don’t you?’
‘Well, I’ve just a dawning suspicion.’
Françoise began to laugh. ‘You know you have. You look positively smug, Pierre! If only we don’t have to worry too much over money, what a wonderful year we’ll have!’
‘As soon as we’re a little better off I shall buy you another coat,’ said Pierre.
‘Oh, I’m quite accustomed to this one.’
‘That’s only too obvious,’ said Pierre. He sat down in an armchair near Françoise.
‘Did you have a good time with your little friend?’
‘She’s very nice. It’s a pity for her to rot away in Rouen.’
‘Did she tell you any stories?’
‘Endless stories. I’ll tell you them some day.’
‘Well then, you’re happy; you didn’t waste your day.’
‘I love stories,’ said Françoise.
There was a knock and the door opened. With a majestic air the concierge carried in a tray with two glasses and a bottle of wine.
‘Thank you very much,’ said Françoise. She filled the glasses.
‘Please,’ said Pierre to the concierge, ‘I’m not in to anyone.’
‘Very good, Monsieur Labrousse,’ said the woman. She went away.
Françoise picked up her glass and started on a second sandwich.
‘I’m going to bring Xavière along with us tonight,’ she said. ‘We’ll go dancing. I think that will be fun. I hope she’ll neutralize Elisabeth a little.’
‘She must be in the seventh heaven,’ said Pierre.
‘Poor child, it’s painful to see her. She’s so utterly miserable at having to return to Rouen.’
‘Is there no way out of it?’ said Pierre.
‘Hardly,’ said Françoise. ‘She’s so spineless. She would never have the strength of mind to train for a profession. And the only prospect her uncle can think of for her is a devoted husband and a lot of children.’
‘You ought to take her in hand,’ said Pierre.
‘How can I? I only see her once a month.’
‘Why don’t you bring her to Paris?’ said Pierre. ‘You could keep an eye on her and make her work. Let her learn to type and we can easily find a job for her somewhere.’
‘Her family would never consent to that,’ said Françoise.
‘Well, let her do it without their permission. Isn’t she of age?’
‘No,’ said Françoise. ‘But that isn’t the main point. I don’t think that the police would be set on her trail.’
Pierre smiled.
‘What is the main point?’
Françoise hesitated; actually she had never suspected that there was a debatable point.
‘In other words, your idea would be for her to live in Paris at our expense until she sorts herself out?’
‘Why not?’ said Pierre. ‘Offer it to her as a loan.’
‘Oh, of course,’ said Françoise. This trick he had of conjuring up a thousand unsuspected possibilities in only a few words always took her by surprise. Where others saw only an impenetrable jungle, Pierre saw a virgin future which was his to shape as he chose. That was the secret of his strength.
‘We’ve had so much luck in our life,’ said Pierre, ‘we ought to let others benefit from it whenever we can.’
Françoise, perplexed, stared at the bottom of her glass.
‘In a way I feel very tempted,’ she said. ‘But I would really have to look after her. I hardly have the time.’
‘Little busy bee,’ said Pierre affectionately.
Françoise coloured. ‘You know I haven’t much leisure,’ she said.
‘Yes, I know,’ said Pierre. ‘But it’s odd, the way you draw back as soon as you’re confronted by something new.’
‘The only something new which interests me is our future together,’ said Françoise. ‘I can’t help it. That’s what makes me happy. You’ve only yourself to blame for it.’
‘Oh, I don’t blame you,’ said Pierre. ‘On the contrary, I think you are far more honest than I am. There’s nothing in your life that rings false.’
‘That’s because you attach no importance to your life as such. It’s your work that counts,’ said Françoise.
‘That’s true,’ said Pierre. He began to gnaw one of his nails, and he looked ill at ease. ‘With the exception of my relationship with you, everything about me is frivolous and wasteful.’ He kept worrying his finger. He would not be satisfied until he had made it bleed. ‘But as soon as I’ve got rid of Canzetti, all that will be finished.’
‘That’s what you say,’ said Françoise.
‘I shall prove it,’ said Pierre.
‘You are lucky.
