uddenly took courage:

"Listen to me, Sidonie--I love you!"

That night the Delobelles had sat up very late.

It was the habit of those brave-hearted women to make their working-day
as long as possible, to prolong it so far into the night that their lamp
was among the last to be extinguished on the quiet Rue de Braque. They
always sat up until the great man returned home, and kept a dainty
little supper warm for him in the ashes on the hearth.

In the days when he was an actor there was some reason for that custom;
actors, being obliged to dine early and very sparingly, have a terrible
gnawing at their vitals when they leave the theatre, and usually eat
when they go home. Delobelle had not acted for a long time; but having,
as he said, no right to abandon the stage, he kept his mania alive by
clinging to a number of the strolling player's habits, and the supper on
returning home was one of them, as was his habit of delaying his return
until the last footlight in the boulevard theatres was extinguished. To
retire without supping, at the hour when all other artists supped, would
have been to abdicate, to abandon the struggle, and he would not abandon
it, sacre bleu!

On the evening in question the actor had not yet come in and the women
were waiting for him, talking as they worked, and with great animation,
notwithstanding the lateness of the hour. During the whole evening they
had done nothing but talk of Frantz, of his success, of the future that
lay before him.

"Now," said Mamma Delobelle, "the only thing he needs is to find a good
little wife."

That was Desiree's opinion, too. That was all that was lacking now to
Frantz's happiness, a good little wife, active and brave and accustomed
to work, who would forget everything for him. And if Desiree spoke with
great confidence, it was because she was intimately acquainted with the
woman who was so well adapted to Frantz Risler's needs. She was only a
year younger than he, just enough to make her younger than her husband
and a mother to him at the same time.

Pretty?

No, not exactly, but attractive rather than ugly, notwithstanding her
infirmity, for she was lame, poor child! And then she was clever and
bright, and so loving! No one but Desiree knew how fondly that little
woman loved Frantz, and how she had thought of him night and day for
years. He had not noticed it himself, but seemed to have eyes for nobody
but Sidonie, a gamine. But no matter! Silent love