The president
submits his questions to the jury; what emotion! The fate of my
drama is being decided. The jury, perhaps, answers, 'Not guilty;'
very well, my piece was bad, I am hissed. If 'Guilty,' on the
contrary, the piece was good, I am applauded, and victorious. The
next day I can go and see my hero, and slapping him on the shoulder,
say to him, 'You have lost, old fellow, I am too much for you!'"
Was M. Lecoq in earnest now, or was he playing a part? What was
the object of this autobiography? Without appearing to notice the
surprise of his companions, he lit a fresh cigar; then, whether
designedly or not, instead of replacing the lamp with which he lit
it on the table, he put it on one corner of the mantel. Thus M.
Plantat's face was in full view, while that of M. Lecoq remained
in shadow.
"I ought to confess," he continued, "without false modesty, that I
have rarely been hissed. Like every man I have my Achilles heel.
I have conquered the demon of play, but I have not triumphed over
my passion for woman."
He sighed heavily, with the resigned gesture of a man who has chosen
his path. "It's this way. There is a woman, before whom I am but
an idiot.
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