I went next to Marshal Canrobert’s, and there I had a great surprise. Just as I was getting out of the carriage, I nearly fell into the arms of the marshal, who was coming out of his house. “What is it? What’s the matter? Is it postponed?” he asked laughing. I did not understand and gazed at him rather bewildered. “Well, have you forgotten that you invited me to luncheon?” he asked. I was quite confused, for I had entirely forgotten it. “Well, all the better!” I said. “I very much wanted to talk to you. Come, I am going to take you with me now.” I then described my visit to Victor Hugo, and repeated all the fine things he had said to me, forgetting that I was constantly saying things that were contrary to his ideas. This admirable man could admire, though, and if he could not change his opinions, he approved the great ideas which were to bring about great changes. One day, when he and Busnach were both at my house, there had been a political discussion which became rather violent. I was afraid for a moment that things might take a wrong turn, as Busnach was the most witty, and at the same time the rudest man in France.... It is only fair to say, though, that if Marshal Canrobert was a polite man and very well bred, he was not at all behind William Busnach in wit. The latter was worked up by the teasing speeches of the marshal. “I challenge you, monsieur,” he exclaimed, “to write about the odious Utopias that you have just been supporting!” “Oh, M. Busnach,” replied Canrobert, coldly, “we do not use the same steel for writing history! You use a pen and I a sword.” The luncheon that I had so completely forgotten was nevertheless a luncheon arranged several days previously. On reaching home we found there Paul de Rémusat, charming Mlle. Hocquigny, and M. De Montbel, a young attaché of the Embassy. I explained my lateness as well as I could and the morning finished in the most delicious harmony of ideas. I have never felt more than I did that day the infinite joy of listening. During a silence, Mlle. Hocquigny turned to the marshal and said: “Are you not of the opinion that our young friend ought to enter the Comédie Française?” “Ah, no, no!” I exclaimed, “I am so happy at the Odéon. I began at the Comédie and the short time I stayed there I was so unhappy.” “You will be obliged to go back there, my dear friend—obliged! Believe me, it will be better early than late.” “Well, do not spoil to-day’s pleasure for me, for I have never been happier!” One morning after this my maid brought me a letter. The large round stamp, on which the words “Comédie Française” are to be read, was on the corner of the envelope.