Presently I ceased to want to do anything of the sort. Instead of further upsetting me the sight of her soothed me. The longer she danced the calmer I became. And when she had finished her “turn,” I began to applaud sincerely and with great joy. It was not admiration that elicited my applause but an entirely opposite feeling. My imitator was so ordinary that, sure of my own superiority, I no longer dreaded her. In fact I could gladly have kissed her for the pleasure that her revelation of inefficiency gave me. After the performance, when we were in the manager’s presence, M. Marchand was then the man, I let him know how I felt, through the intermediation of Mr. Stein, who acted as interpreter. The hall by this time was empty. There were only six of us on the stage; M. Marchand, his wife, the second orchestra leader, M. Henri Hambourg, Mr. Stein, my mother and I. “Ask M. Marchand,” I said to Mr. Stein, “why he has engaged a woman who gives a feeble copy of my dances when you wrote him from Berlin to propose his talking with me.” Instead of translating my question my “interpreter” replied: “Are you really so sure of yourself? Have you forgotten that you have been proposing to dance at the Opera? Perhaps he knows about it.” “That doesn’t matter,” I replied. “Put the question to him just the same. And besides, this man doesn’t know anything.” I learned afterwards that M. Marchand spoke English and understood it as well as Mr. Stein and I. He must have had great difficulty, that evening, in checking a longing to laugh. As a matter of fact he restrained it perfectly, for we were unable to detect it, and we did not discover that he was familiar with Shakespeare’s language. Mr. Stein forthwith translated my question. “I engaged this dancer,” replied M. Marchand in French, “because the Casino de Paris is announcing a serpentine dance and because I cannot afford to let them get ahead of me.” “But,” I asked, “are there other dancers of this sort at Parisian theatres?” “No. The one at the Casino has broken her engagement. But for my part I had already engaged your imitator. As you see, she is meeting with no great success, and I fancy that you will hardly achieve it either. Nevertheless, if you care to give me a rehearsal I am at your service.” “Thank you. You would like me to give you a rehearsal so that a thief may steal some more of my dances!” But my agent urged me so strongly to show the manager what my dances were like, especially as compared with those of my imitator, that I decided to do so. I put on my robes, one after the other, and began to dance. The orchestra was composed of a single violin, and for illumination I had only the footlights. When I had finished the manager made me come into his private office and proposed to engage me then and there. I was to make my appearance as soon as the other dancer had ended her engagement. “No,” I declared. “If I come to you this woman will have to go.”