Oh, that dance, how I loved it! To me it was the most beautiful thing in the world. I forgot the woman and all her faults, her absurd affectations, her costume, and even her bare legs. I saw only the dancer, and the artistic pleasure she was giving me. When she had finished no one spoke. I went up to the Princess. She said to me in a low voice: “Why does she dance with so little clothing on?” Then I suddenly realised the strange attitude of the public, and guided by a sort of inspiration, I answered in tones loud enough so that everybody should hear: “I forgot to tell you how kind our artist is. Her trunks upon which she relied absolutely for the day have not arrived. Accordingly, rather than give you the disappointment of not seeing her dance, she appeared before you in the gown in which she practises.” At nine o’clock the press performance took place. Everybody was enthusiastic, but none more so than I. Next day I arranged a third performance for painters and sculptors, and this affair was likewise a great success. A lady finally asked my friend to dance at her house. The star demanded a very high price. Persuaded by me the lady consented to pay the big fee my dancer claimed to be worth. For several weeks her success increased day by day. Then, all at once, people seemed to have forgotten the dancer. She was engaged only rarely, but I was not discouraged. Meantime, I had forgotten to mention it, my friend’s mother had joined us at Vienna, and in place of one guest I now had two. A little while after these performances we went to Budapesth, where I gave a new entertainment to launch my protégée. I invited all the best people of the city to this. The leading actress of the Théâtre National heard of the affair, and was anxious to take part in it. I invited the theatrical managers as I had done at Vienna. This time one of them was to make up his mind regarding an engagement. The next day he came to see me, and proposed twenty performances in one of the first theatres of Budapesth. My friend was to rehearse, beginning the next day. On that same day I had an interminable rehearsal with my Japanese actors, and I was detained from home until late in the afternoon. On returning to the hotel I learned that the dancer and her mother had gone to Vienna to give there an evening performance I had arranged for her before our departure. My orchestra leader accompanied them. I was, I must confess, a little surprised at the abruptness with which they left, but I thought no more about it until my orchestra leader returned. He came back alone. At first he evaded questions. Then he confessed that these ladies did not expect to rejoin me. I could not, and would not, believe him.