I found my manager quite alone--not a soul had arrived yet. Still, that did not prevent him greeting me with a radiant air--though that was his normal condition. “No one has yet come to the theatre,” he said, rubbing his hands, as if giving me first-rate intelligence; “but that is a good sign.” “The deuce it is! Come, my dear Génet, I must have that proved.” “It is easy enough to understand. You must have noticed, sir, that at our former performances we only had the country gentry.” “Nothing proves it was so; still, I will allow it. Now go on.” “Well, it is very simple. The tradespeople have not come to see you yet, and I expect them to-night. They are always so busy, that they usually defer a pleasure till the last moment. Have patience, and you will soon see the rush we shall have to contend against.” And he looked towards the entrance door like a man perfectly convinced that his predictions would be fulfilled. We had still half an hour--more than sufficient to fill the room--so I waited. But this half-hour passed in vain expectation. Not a soul came to the box-office. “It is now eight,” I said, drawing out my watch, “and no spectators have arrived. What do you say to that, Génet?” “Oh, sir! your watch is too fast--I am sure of it for----“ My manager was about to support his allegation by some proof drawn from his brain, when the town-hall clock struck. Génet, finding his reasons exhausted, contented himself with silence, while casting a despairing glance towards the door. At length, I saw his face grow purple with delight. “Ah! I said so,” he exclaimed, pointing to two young men coming towards us. “The public are beginning to arrive. They doubtlessly mistook the hour. Come, every man to his post!” Génet’s joy did not last long, for he soon recognized in these visitors the two young gentlemen who had taken their places the previous day. “You have kept our seats?” they said to the optimist, as they hurried in. “Yes, gentlemen, yes; you can go in,” Génet replied, making an imperceptible grimace. And he led them in complacently, while striving to explain the emptiness of the room by saying it was only momentary. He had hardly returned to the box-office, when a gentleman of a certain age hurried up the steps, and rushed towards the pay place with a haste my previous success probably justified. “Is there any room left?” he asked, in a panting voice. My poor Génet did not know how to reply to this question, which seemed a jest; he, therefore, merely muttered one of those common-place phrases usually employed to gain time. “Well, sir, to tell you the truth--I should say----“ “I know--I know: there are no places left. I expected it. But be kind enough to let me go in, and I will find some corner to stand in.” “But, sir, allow me to tell you----“ “No matter.” “But if, on the contrary----“ “All the better. There, give me a stall-ticket, and I will see if I can find room in the passage.”