A little later his own valet served us with tea in a large private
drawing-room on the sixth or seventh floor, to reach which we had
climbed a thousand and one stairs; it was impossible for Octave Boissy
to use the lift, as he was convinced that he would die in it if he took
such a liberty with himself. The room was hung with modern pictures,
such as had certainly never been seen in any hotel before. Many
knick-knacks and embroideries were also obviously foreign to the hotel.
"But how have you managed to attend the rehearsals of the new play?" I
demanded.
"Oh!" said he, languidly, "I never attend any rehearsals of my plays.
Mademoiselle Lemonnier sees to all that."
"She takes the leading part in this play, doesn't she, according to the
posters?"
"She takes the leading part in all my plays," said he.
"A first-class artiste, no doubt? I've never seen her act."
"Neither have I!" said Octave Boissy. And as I now yielded frankly to my
astonishment, he added: "You see, I am not interested in the theatre.
Not only have I never attended a rehearsal, but I have never seen a
performance of any of my plays. Don't you remember that it was
engineering, above all else, that attracted me? I have a truly wonderful
engineering shop in the basement of my house in the Avenue du Bois. I
should very much have liked you to see it; but you comprehend, don't
you, that I'm just as much cut off from the Avenue du Bois as I am from
Timbuctoo. My malady is the most exasperating of all maladies."
"Well, Boissy Minor," I observed, "I suppose it has occurred to you that
your case is calculated to excite wonder in the simple breast of a
brutal Englishman."
He laughed, and I was glad that I had had the courage to reduce him
definitely to the rank of Boissy Minor.
"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?"