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Wilson and Madame Bert were doing the same thing.
    It's nine, the play won't begin for another fifteen minutes. Antoine, be an angel and run get me a sandwich, I'm famished,' she continued.
    Antoine hesitated. Lucile saw him look at the café, then at Diane, and finally, with a vague gesture of resignation, he crossed the street and pushed open the door of the café. She could see the proprietor get quickly to his feet, come from behind the counter and, with a pained expression, shake Antoine's hand. The waiter did the same. All she could see of Antoine was his back, she had the impression that he was retreating, floundering under a hail of blows. Then she remembered: Sarah. The same theatre, the rehearsals, the café where Antoine must have waited. Where he had never returned.
    'But what can Antoine be doing?' asked Diane. 'Has he taken to solitary drinking?'
    'Sarah,' said Lucile without looking at her.
    The name bothered her but she couldn't have questioned Antoine, or even mentioned it. He came toward them, expressionless, like a blind man. Diane understood suddenly, and turned toward her so briskly that Lucile recoiled, startled.
    And, in fact, Diane had almost slapped her: so Lucile knew about Sarah, too. She had no right to know. Antoine belonged to her, Antoine's laughter and Antoine's sorrow. It was on her shoulder that he dreamed of Sarah each night. It was Diane that he preferred to the memory of Sarah. The bell rang for the first act. She took Antoine's arm, leading him. He followed, dazed. He greeted several critics politely, some friends of Diane's, and helped her to her seat. The curtain went up and in the dark she leaned toward him.
    'You poor darling,' she said ...
    And she took his hand in hers.
    CHAPTER SIX
    During the interval, they split into two groups. Lucile and Antoine smiled from a distance and, for the first time, with feeling. He watched her as she talked, absently leaning against Charles' shoulder, and the curve of her neck, the faintly amused line of her mouth attracted him. He wanted to push his way through the crowd and take her in his arms. It had been a long time since he had felt desire, simple desire for an unknown woman. She turned at that precise moment, met Antoine's eyes and, sensing the meaning in them, stood motionless before giving a small embarrassed smile. She had never really thought of Antoine physically, it took this look of desire to make her appreciate his beauty. All her life it had been like that; by some happy chance or an almost pathological dislike of difficulties, she only took an interest in those who were interested in her. And now, her back turned to him, she saw again Antoine's handsome mouth, the golden colour of his eyes, and she asked herself by what extraordinary coincidence they had not kissed that first night. Charles felt her head move from his shoulder, glanced at her and immediately recognised the thoughtful, gentle, almost resigned expression she always had when she took a liking to a man. He turned and saw Antoine.
    After the play, they again formed into a group. Claire was in ecstasy because of the performance, the lovely weather, the maharani's jewels, delirious with pleasure. They couldn't agree on a restaurant, as usual. Finally they decided to go to Marnes, for obviously the green grass and fresh air were just what Claire needed. Diane's chauffeur stood waiting.
    'Diane,' said Charles suddenly, 'would you take me with you? We came here in Lucile's car, and I'm feeling old tonight and I have a cold. Can you do without Antoine?'
    Diane did not turn a hair, but Claire rolled her eyes in amazement and disbelief.
    'Why, of course,' said Diane. 'See you later, Antoine, and don't drive too fast.'
    The four of them got into the Rolls-Royce. Lucile and Antoine were left on the sidewalk, slightly stunned. Neither Charles nor Diane looked back, but Claire's parting wink froze them though they pretended not to have seen it. Lucile was lost in thought. It was like