Here we were, then, on our way; and, after half an hour’s walking, we reached the theatre. The manager had not yet arrived. We sat down to wait for him. A lot of people came in. Some of them stayed for a while. Others went away at once. They were all excited, busy and looked worried. What were they after? Were they going to get all the tickets? The crowd kept increasing to such an extent that I saw my poor tickets grow smaller and smaller in perspective and then disappear altogether. And I had counted so much on them! Would the manager never come? At last a great commotion was heard. A group of gentlemen rushed by like the wind and, without stopping to see what was going on, disappeared behind a door on which was written “No admission.” None of us knew what to do after that. Everybody stared at everybody else. Most of those who were cooling their heels in the ante-chamber were men. My exhausted nerves would not let me linger any longer, and I said in a whisper to my mother: “I am going to knock on the door.” She turned pale, but I had no choice in the matter. This was the only way to come to something, even if I ran the risk of heart failure from an organ that was beating so loudly that I thought it was on the point of bursting. My head was in a whirl and I saw nothing for a moment. Nevertheless I approached the door and gave a gentle knock. I felt as if I had committed a crime, this little rap resounded so loudly in my ears. A command to enter that sounded lugubrious was the response, and I opened the door. Mechanically I came forward and found myself in the middle of a group of gentlemen without knowing which of them to address. Overcome with embarrassment I stood erect in the centre of the room while everybody looked me over. Then I summoned all my courage and I said, to the whole circle: “Gentlemen, I should like to see the manager of this theatre, if you please.” When I stopped speaking my teeth began to chatter so loudly that I bit my tongue. A gentleman who looked more important than the others came forward and said: “What do you want of him, little girl?” Good heavens, must I speak again before all these people? To my own astonishment, I heard, as if it were somebody else’s, my own voice saying in a firm tone: “Well, it is this way, sir. I am an artist, and I should like to come with my mother to the matinee that Sarah Bernhardt is going to give us.” “Who are you, and where are you playing?” At this point the tone lost its assurance, while the voice replied: “You probably don’t know my name, sir. It isn’t well known here. It’s Loie Fuller. I have come from the West, to try and find an engagement. I’m not playing anywhere just now, but I think that--it is of no importance anyway--and that perhaps you will let me just the same--see her--if I beg it of you.” “Where is your mother?” “There, outside,” and I pointed to the door. “The pale lady, with the sweet expression?” “Yes, sir. She is pale because she is afraid.”