The gentleman put the book under his muffler; then he flashed an angry glance at me, and probably proposed to make a very dignified exit; unfortunately, as he glanced at me, he failed to see a lady who was coming in; and when he turned, he collided with her; the lady’s hat knocked off his three-cornered one, which was carefully balanced on his head. The little old man picked up his hat and pulled it over his eyes, muttering: “What are we coming to?” and went out, slamming the door so viciously that he nearly broke all the glass, which action I considered by no means worthy of an old chevalier. The lady who had knocked off the little hat was young and rather pretty; a half veil thrown back over her hood did not conceal her features; indeed, her eyes did not indicate a person who shrank from being noticed; far from it. But there was in her dress a mixture of coquetry and slovenliness, of pretension and poverty; she had in her hand a pamphlet which she tossed upon the desk, saying: “I have brought back the _Chevilles de Maître Adam_; how much do I owe you?” “Six sous, mademoiselle.” “What! six sous for a farce which I have kept only three days,--just long enough to copy my part?” “That is the price, mademoiselle. You gave me thirty sous as security; here’s twenty-four.” “Why, it’s an exorbitant price, madame--six sous! I hire very often, but I have never paid so much as that. It would be as cheap to buy the thing. How much does it cost?” “Thirty sous, mademoiselle.” “Great heavens! how they are putting up the price of plays nowadays! It’s an awful shame! But I must have the _Mariage de Figaro_, to learn the part of Chérubin, which I am going to play on Sunday on Rue de Chantereine. I can’t learn my parts unless I copy them; writing seems to engrave them on my brain. I copied Nanine in one night and I knew it the next day. But six sous! that’s rather hard. People think that it doesn’t cost anything to act in society. I should think not! there’s no end to the expenses. Costumes, rouge, bundles to be carried! Never mind, give me Figaro. I have never played in a burlesque yet, but my teacher told me that I ought to be very good in it, because I am not knock-kneed. Keep what I paid you; that will pay for this.” The _Mariage de Figaro_ was handed to her. She turned over the leaves of the pamphlet, muttering: “Oh! how short it is! almost no long speeches, and I am so fond of lengthy dialogues! I am sorry now that I don’t play Suzanne. But I will copy both parts; then I can play the man or the woman as they want. I am not particular.” The actress-apprentice stuffed the pamphlet into her bag and went out, winding about her body an old shawl which looked as if it had often done duty as a turban for Zaïre or Mohammed.