The months rolled on. Balzac went to Russia, and as soon as I heard of his return I called upon him at his residence in the Rue Fortunée. A servant in a red vest took my card, and a few moments later I was ushered into a low-ceilinged room. Balzac was at the other end of it, and cried out from afar, “Here is your manuscript!” Then I saw my author standing by his work-table, clothed in a long, monkish robe of white linen, with one hand resting on a mass of paper. I ran to him. On the first page Balzac had written in large characters, “Gertrude, tragédie bourgeoise en cinq actes, en prose.” On the back was the proposed distribution of the play. Melingue was designated for the rôle of Ferdinand, the lover of the stepmother and daughter; Madame Dorval was to play Gertrude; and the other parts were to be filled by Mathis, Barré, etc. Beneath these names the author had minutely indicated everything which concerned the play,—the action, the furniture, and the decorations; he had even given the measure for the double carpet which he judged indispensable to the mise-en-scène. It was then agreed that the play should be read the next day in the presence of Madame Dorval and Melingue. When, therefore, we had all assembled at the appointed time, he read it through from beginning to end, without stopping, and then quietly remarked, “It is much too long; it must be cut down a quarter.” Not only did he cut it down, but he changed the title to that of “La Marâtre,” which it has since so gloriously borne. It was first represented in June, 1848, in the midst of the most disastrous political circumstances.... The theatres were necessarily abandoned, but such is the power of genius that all the bold and brave in literature who remained in Paris gathered that night, and received Balzac’s work with the sympathy and applause which it so richly merited. The next morning I paid him a visit. “We had quite a victory last night!” I joyously exclaimed. “Yes,” he answered; “a victory like that of Charles XII.” On taking leave of him, I asked where he had been during the representation. “Why,” he answered, with a smile, “I was in a box with those ladies. They were greatly interested in the play. At the moment when Pauline poisons herself, that her stepmother may be accused of assassinating her, the young girl screamed with terror; the tears were in her eyes, and she looked reproachfully at me. Then she grasped her stepmother’s hand, and raised it to her lips with a movement”— “Of sincerity?” “Ah, yes, indeed.” “You see, then, that your play may serve as a lesson.”