A lord of the manor (Vicomte Vaufreland, basso) makes love to a humble village maiden (myself, soprano); the lady of the manor (Madame Conneau, contralto) becomes jealous and makes a scene with her husband; the friend and adviser (Count d'Espeuilles, tenor) steps in and takes his friend's part and kindly says that it was he who had loved the village maiden. The wife is satisfied, and everything ends beautifully. It would be very uphill work for the poor Marquis and I wondered if he would really have the patience to go on with it, after realizing how unmusical the men were. D'Espeuilles stood behind the Marquis's bald head and reached over to put his finger on the note he wanted to sing, and then banged on that, until, after singing every note in the scale, he finally fixed it in his brain. Could anything be more despairing? Our next thought naturally was our costumes. The operetta was laid in the time of Louis XV. Would we be able to find anything in the various trunks in the gallery next to the theater? When we went there we found everything we did not want--costumes, odds and ends of all sorts, which belonged to all other periods than Louis XV. The contents of the trunks were in a very chaotic state; each article which once had formed one of a complete costume was without its better half; the unprincipled things had meandered off and got mixed up in other sets. To be sure, there was a Louis XV. coat, with embroidered pockets and satin-lined coat-tails, but nothing more suitable for _culottes_ could be found than a pair of red-plush breeches, trimmed with lace (I think one calls them "trunk hose"), of Henry II.'s time. When they were urged upon the Vicomte, he absolutely refused them, saying he would not mix up epochs like that, and, after pulling over everything, he decided to send to Paris for a complete costume. Count d'Espeuilles was less difficult to satisfy, and was contented with a black-velvet Hamlet costume, with a plumed hat, which suited no epoch at all, but suited his style of beauty. Madame C---- thought her maid might arrange out of a ball-dress some sort of attire; with powdered hair, paint, and patches, she could represent the lady of the manor very well. My Tyrolean dress of last year would do quite nicely for me, when my maid had put the customary bows on the traditional apron. We all separated, carrying our carefully written rôles under our arms, and in the worst of tempers. Monsieur Dué was my neighbor at dinner. He is very musical, and was much interested in hearing about the operetta. He does not think the Marquis has any talent; neither do I! But I don't wish to give any opinion on the poor little struggling operetta before it has lived its day, and then I am sure it will die its natural death. Monsieur Dué has composed some very pretty things for the piano, which he plays on the slightest encouragement.