I took such a position, in a very short time, at the Comédie, that some of the _artistes_ began to feel uneasy, and the management shared the anxiety. M. Perrin, an extremely intelligent man, whom I have always remembered with great affection, was horribly authoritative. I was authoritative, also, so that there was always perpetual warfare between us. He wanted to impose his will on me, and I would not submit to it. He was always ready to laugh at my outbursts when they were against the others, but he was furious when they were directed against himself. As for me, I will own that to get Perrin in a fury was one of my delights. He stammered so when he tried to talk quickly, he who weighed every word on ordinary occasions; the expression of his eyes, which was generally wavering, grew irritated and deceitful, and his pale, distinguished-looking face became mottled with patches of color, like the dregs of wine. His fury made him take his hat off and put it on again fifteen times in as many minutes, and his extremely smooth hair stood on end with this mad gallop of his headgear. Although I had certainly arrived at the age of discretion, I delighted in my wicked mischievousness, which I always regretted after, but which I was always ready to recommence, and even now after all the days, weeks, months, and years that I have lived since then, it still gives me infinite pleasure to play a joke on anyone. All the same, life at the Comédie began to affect my nerves. I wanted to play _Camille_ in “On ne Badine pas avec l’Amour.” The rôle was given to Croizette. I wanted to play _Célimène_; that rôle was Croizette’s. Perrin was very partial to Croizette. He admired her, and as she was very ambitious, she was most thoughtful and docile, which charmed the authoritative old man. She always obtained everything she wanted, and as Sophie Croizette was frank and straightforward, she often said to me when I was grumbling: “Do as I do, be more yielding, you pass your time in rebelling; I appear to be doing everything that Perrin wants me to do, but in reality I make him do all I want him to. Try the same thing.” I accordingly screwed up my courage and went to see Perrin. He nearly always said to me when we met: “Ah, how do you do, Mlle. Revolt? Are you calm to-day?” “Yes, very calm,” I replied; “but be amiable and grant me what I am going to ask you.” I tried to be charming, and spoke in my prettiest way. He almost purred with satisfaction, and was witty (this was no effort to him, as he was naturally so), and we got on very well together for a quarter of an hour. I then made my petition: “Let me play _Camille_ in ‘On ne Badine pas avec l’Amour.’” “That’s impossible, my dear child,” he replied; “Croizette is playing it.” “Well, then, we’ll both play it, we’ll take it in turns.” “But Mlle. Croizette wouldn’t like that.” “I’ve spoken to her about it, and she would not mind.” “You ought not to have spoken to her about it.” “Why not?”