The bitter odor of smoke was what we inhaled in Paris. All that I touched at home left on my fingers a somewhat greasy and almost imperceptible color. A general uneasiness beset France, and more especially Paris. The theaters, however, opened their doors once more, and that was a general relief. One morning I received from the Odéon a notice of rehearsal. I shook out my hair, stamped my feet, and sniffed the air like a young horse snorting. The race ground was to be opened for us again. We should be able to gallop afresh through our dreams. The lists were open. The contest was beginning. Life was commencing again. It is truly strange that man’s mind should have made of life a perpetual strife. When there is no longer War there is Battle, for there are a hundred thousand of us for the same object, God has created the earth and man for each other. The earth is vast. What ground there is uncultivated! Miles upon miles, acres upon acres of new land, waiting for arms that will take from its bosom the treasures of inexhaustible nature. And we remain grouped round each other; crowds of famishing people watching other groups, which are also lying in wait. The Odéon opened its doors to the public, offering them its repertory. Some new pieces were given us to study. One of these, more particularly, had great success. It was André Theuriet’s “Jean-Marie,” and was given in October, 1871. This little one-act play is a veritable masterpiece, and it took its author straight to the Academy. Porel, who played the part of _Jean-Marie_, had huge success. He was at that time slender, nimble, and full of youthful ardor. He needed a little more poetry, but the joyous laughter of his thirty-two teeth made up in ardor for what was wanting in poetic desire. It was very good, anyhow. My rôle of the young Breton girl, submissive to the elderly husband forced upon her, and living eternally with the memory of the _fiancé_ who was absent, perhaps dead, was pretty, poetical, and touching through the final sacrifice. There was even a certain grandeur in the end of the piece. It had, I must repeat, an immense success and increased my growing reputation. I was, however, awaiting the event which was to consecrate me a star. I did not quite know what I was expecting, but I knew that my Messiah had to come. And it was the greatest poet of the last century who was to place on my head the crown of the Elect.