"And not only in the breast of an Englishman!" he said. "_Mais que
veux-tu?_ One must live."
"But I should have thought you could have made a comfortable living out
of engineering. In England consulting engineers are princes."
"Oh yes!"
"And engineering might have cured your neurasthenia, if you had taken it
in sufficiently large quantities."
"It would," he agreed quietly.
"Then why the theatre, seeing that the theatre doesn't interest you?"
"In order to live," he replied. "And when I say 'live,' I mean _live_.
It is not a question of money, it is a question of _living_."
"But as you never go near the theatre--"
"I write solely for Blanche Lemonnier," he said. I was at a loss.
Perceiving this, he continued intimately: "Surely you know of my
admiration for Blanche Lemonnier?"
I shook my head.
"I have never even heard of Blanche Lemonnier, save in connection with
your plays," I said.
"She is only known in connection with my plays," he answered. "When I
met her, a dozen years ago, she was touring the provinces, playing small
parts in third-rate companies. I asked her what was her greatest
ambition, and she said that it was to be applauded as a star on the
Paris stage.
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