After “Kean” I played in “La Loterie du Mariage.” When we were rehearsing the piece, Agar came up to me one day, in the corner where I usually sat. I had a little armchair there from my dressing-room, and put my feet up on a straw chair. I liked this place, because there was a little gas burner there, and I could work while waiting for my turn to go on the stage. I loved embroidering and tapestry work. I had a quantity of different kinds of fancy work commenced, and could take up one or the other as I felt inclined. Mlle. Agar was an admirable creature. She had evidently been created for the joy of the eyes. She was a brunette, tall, pale, with large, dark, gentle eyes, a very small mouth with full rounded lips, which went up at the corners in an almost imperceptible smile. She had exquisite teeth, and her head was covered with thick, glossy hair. She was the living incarnation of one of the most beautiful types of ancient Greece. Her pretty hands were long and rather soft, while her slow and rather heavy walk completed the evocation. She was the great tragedian of the Odéon Theater. She approached me with her measured tread, followed by a young man of from twenty-four to twenty-six years of age. “Well, my dear,” she said, kissing me, “there is a chance for you to make a poet happy.” She then introduced François Coppée. I invited the young man to sit down, and then I looked at him more thoroughly. His handsome face, emaciated and pale, was that of the immortal Bonaparte. A thrill of emotion went through me, for I adored Napoleon I. “Are you a poet, monsieur?” I asked. “Yes, mademoiselle.” His voice, too, trembled, for he was still more timid than I was. “I have written a little piece,” he continued, “and Mlle. Agar is sure that you will play it with her.” “Yes, my dear,” put in Agar, “you are going to play it for him. It is a little masterpiece, and I am sure you will have a gigantic success!” “Oh, and you, too! You will be so beautiful in it!” said the poet, gazing rapturously at Agar.