But, as has been said, Lemaitre was growing spoiled as a man by his success as an artist. He rebelled against the idea that any person should be admired on the scene where he was king, and he carried this feeling to the absurdest lengths. In one of his plays he had to bring in the corpse of his young brother (of the story), and the actor who played this part identified himself so well with the immobility of the last sleep that the public, struck with astonishment, broke in upon one of Lemaitre's finest speeches with cries of bravo for the little dead brother. "This is a very impertinent rascal," muttered Lemaitre, "who makes himself applauded in my very arms. I shall punish him for it." Leaning over the supposed corpse while speaking his lines, he blew into the dead boy's nostrils. Not a movement! Then pretending to yield to despair--always in consonance with the part he was playing--Lemaitre pulled the hair of the defunct with frantic gestures. Not a muscle stirred! Whereupon Lemaitre seemed to break down utterly under his grief, let go of the body, and it fell hard upon the stage like an inert mass. The effect was superb. The whole house applauded, the bravos became frantic, the great actor was hoist with his own petard. Lemaitre passed the night in solemn reflection on the seriousness of the case. The result was that at the next representation, while carrying in his little dead brother, he delicately tickled him under the arms. The unhappy defunct could not stand this. He came to life, burst out laughing, and was heartily hissed, while Lemaitre, the picture of solemn grief, inly chuckled at the success of his efforts to destroy rivalry. But, notwithstanding his superb egotism and his jealousy of applause, Lemaitre was capable of mocking at himself in a most amusing manner. At one of the last representations of _Robert Macaire_ he expected to be called before the curtain at the end of the play. He was not, however; whereupon he ordered the curtain to be raised and came forward with his gravest air. "Gentlemen," said he, addressing the audience, "I desire to know if M. Auguste is not here." M. Auguste does not answer, and the spectators look at each other in surprise. "M. Antoine!" Silence again. "Well, gentlemen, I am the victim of the dishonesty of the chef and sous-chef of the claque. I gave them forty francs this morning to call me out, and neither of them is here. You perceive, gentlemen, how grossly I have been swindled."