That dear little iceberg of a Desiree loved him so dearly.  Her eyes sparkled so even when talking of the most indifferent things with him.  As objects dipped in phosphorus shine with equal splendor, so the most trivial words she said illuminated her pretty, radiant face.  What a blissful rest it was for him after Sigismond’s brutal disclosures!

They talked together with great animation while Mamma Delobelle was setting the table.

“You will dine with us, won’t you, Monsieur Frantz?  Father has gone to take back the work; but he will surely come home to dinner.”

He will surely come home to dinner!

The good woman said it with a certain pride.

In fact, since the failure of his managerial scheme, the illustrious Delobelle no longer took his meals abroad, even on the evenings when he went to collect the weekly earnings.  The unlucky manager had eaten so many meals on credit at his restaurant that he dared not go there again.  By way of compensation, he never failed, on Saturday, to bring home with him two or three unexpected, famished guests—­“old comrades”—­“unlucky devils.”  So it happened that, on the evening in question, he appeared upon the stage escorting a financier from the Metz theatre and a comique from the theatre at Angers, both waiting for an engagement.

The comique, closely shaven, wrinkled, shrivelled by the heat from the footlights, looked like an old street-arab; the financier wore cloth shoes, and no linen, so far as could be seen.

“Frantz!—­my Frantz!” cried the old strolling player in a melodramatic voice, clutching the air convulsively with his hands.  After a long and energetic embrace he presented his guests to one another.

“Monsieur Robricart, of the theatre at Metz.

“Monsieur Chaudezon, of the theatre at Angers.

“Frantz Risler, engineer.”

In Delobelle’s mouth that word “engineer” assumed vast proportions!

Desiree pouted prettily when she saw her father’s friends.  It would have been so nice to be by themselves on a day like to-day.  But the great man snapped his fingers at the thought.  He had enough to do to unload his pockets.  First of all, he produced a superb pie “for the ladies,” he said, forgetting that he adored pie.  A lobster next made its appearance, then an Arles sausage, marrons glaces and cherries, the first of the season!

While the financier enthusiastically pulled up the collar of his invisible shirt, while the comique exclaimed “gnouf! gnouf!” with a gesture forgotten by Parisians for ten years, Desiree thought with dismay of the enormous hole that impromptu banquet would make in the paltry earnings of the week, and Mamma Delobelle, full of business, upset the whole buffet in order to find a sufficient number of plates.

It was a very lively meal.  The two actors ate voraciously, to the great delight of Delobelle, who talked over with them old memories of their days of strolling.  Fancy a collection of odds and ends of scenery, extinct lanterns, and mouldy, crumbling stage properties.