"The boxes are sixty francs each, and there are ten there, but no hurry," said added, seeing the Englishman take out his pocketbook. "I hope that as we are neighbors, this is not the last time I shall have the honor of a visit from you." "I do not like to run up bills," replied Mr. Birne and drawing from the pocketbook a thousand franc note, he laid it on the table and slid the tickets into his pockets. "I will give you change," said Dolores, opening a little drawer. "Never mind," said the Englishman, "the rest will do for a drink," and he went off leaving Dolores thunder struck at his last words. "For a drink!" she exclaimed. "What a clown! I will send him back his money." But her neighbor's rudeness had only irritated the epidermis of her vanity; reflection calmed her. She thought that a thousand francs made a very nice "pile," after all, and that she had already put up with impertinences at a cheaper rate. "Bah!" she said to herself. "It won't do to be so proud. No one was by, and this is my washerwoman's mouth. And this Englishman speaks so badly, perhaps he only means to pay me a compliment." So she pocketed her bank note joyfully. But that night after the theater she returned home furious. Mr. Birne had made no use of the tickets, and the ten boxes had remained vacant. Thus on appearing on the stage, the unfortunate _beneficiaire_ read on the countenances of her lady friends, the delight they felt at seeing the house so badly filled. She even heard an actress of her acquaintance say to another, as she pointed to the empty boxes, "Poor Dolores, she has only planted one stage box." "True, the boxes are scarcely occupied," was the rejoinder. "The stalls, too, are empty." "Well, when they see her name on the bill, it acts on the house like an air pump." "Hence, what an idea to put up the price of the seats!" "A fine benefit. I will bet that the takings would not fill a money box or the foot of a stocking." "Ah! There she is in her famous red velvet costume." "She looks like a lobster." "How much did you make out of your last benefit?" said another actress to her companion. "The house was full, my dear, and it was a first night; chairs in the gangway were worth a louis. But I only got six francs; my milliner had all the rest. If I was not afraid of chilblains, I would go to Saint Petersburg." "What, you are not yet thirty, and are already thinking of doing your Russia?" "What would you have?" said the other, and she added, "and you, is your benefit soon coming on?" "In a fortnight, I have already three thousand francs worth of tickets taken, without counting my young fellows from Saint Cyr." "Hallo, the stalls are going out." "It is because Dolores is singing."