“Well, raise my salary, then,” I said. “I am offered twelve thousand francs a year at the Comédie. Give me fifteen thousand here and I will stay, for I do not want to leave.” “Listen to me,” said the charming manager in a friendly way. “You know that I am not free to act alone, but I will do my best, I promise you,” and Duquesnel certainly kept his word. “Come here to-morrow before going to the Comédie, and I will give you Chilly’s reply. But take my advice and if he obstinately refuses to increase your salary, do not leave, we shall find a way. And besides ... anyhow, I cannot say any more!” I returned the following day according to arrangement. I found Duquesnel and Chilly in the manager’s office. Chilly began at once somewhat roughly: “And so you want to leave, Duquesnel tells me. Where are you going? It is most stupid, for your place is here. Just consider and think it over for yourself. At the Gymnase they only give modern pieces, pieces for dressy plays. That is not your style. At the Vaudeville it is the same. At the Gaieté you would spoil your voice. You are too distinguished for the Ambigu.” I looked at him without replying and he felt awkward and mumbled: “Well, then, you are of my opinion?” “No,” I answered, “you have forgotten the Comédie.” He was sitting in his big armchair and he burst out laughing. “Ah, no, my dear girl!” he said, “you must not tell me that! They’ve had enough of your queer character at the Comédie. I dined the other night with Maubant and when some one said that you ought to be engaged at the Comédie Française he nearly choked with rage. I can assure you he did not show much affection as far as you were concerned, the great tragedian!” “Oh, well, you ought to have taken my part!” I exclaimed, irritated. “You know very well that I am very reliable.” “But I did take your part,” he said, “and I added even that it would be a very fortunate thing for the Comédie if it could have an _artiste_ with your will power, that perhaps might relieve the monotonous tone of the house, and I only spoke as I thought, but the poor tragedian was beside himself. He does not consider that you have any talent. In the first place, he maintains that you do not know how to recite poetry. He declares that you make all your A’s too broad. Finally, when he had no arguments left, he declared that as long as he lives you will never enter the Comédie Française.” I was silent for a moment, weighing the pros and cons of the probable result of my experiment. Finally coming to a decision, I murmured somewhat waveringly: “Well, then, you will not give me a higher salary?” “No, a thousand times no!” yelled Chilly. “You will try to make me sing when your engagement comes to an end and then we will see. But I have your signature until then. You have mine, too, and I hold to our engagement. The Théâtre Français is the only one that would suit you besides ours, and I am quite easy in my mind with regard to that theater.”