the surface of the water—which explains the terrible noise of the sea dashing into the labyrinth and the possibility of standing upright on a rock with the wild dance of the waves all around. However, I saw very plainly that a false step might be fatal in the brutal whirl of waters which came rushing in from afar with dizzy speed and broke against the insurmountable obstacle, and in receding dashed against other waves which followed them. From this cause proceeded the perpetual fusillade of waters which rushed into the _crevasse_ without danger of drowning me. The night commenced to fall, and I experienced a fearful anguish in discovering on the crest of a little rock two enormous eyes which looked fixedly at me. Then a little farther, near a tuft of seaweed, two more large, fixed eyes. I saw no body to these beings—nothing but the eyes. I thought for a minute that I was losing my senses, and I bit my tongue till the blood came, then I pulled violently at the rope, as I had agreed to do, in order to give the signal for being drawn up. I felt the trembling joy of the four hands pulling me, and my feet lost their hold as I was lifted up by my guardians. The eyes were lifted up also, troubled to see me go. And while I mounted through the air I saw nothing but eyes everywhere—eyes throwing out long feelers to reach me. I had never seen an octopus, and I did not even know of the existence of these horrible beasts. During the ascension, which seemed to me interminable, I imagined I saw these beasts along the walls, and my teeth were chattering when I was drawn on to the green hillock. I immediately told the guardian the cause of my terror, and he crossed himself, saying: “Those were the eyes of the shipwrecked ones. No one must stay there!” I knew very well that they were not the eyes of shipwrecked ones, but I did not know what they were. For I thought I had seen some strange beasts that no one had ever seen before. It was only at the hotel, with Père Batifoulé, that I learned to know the octopus. Only five more days of holiday were left to me, and I passed them at the Pointe du Raz, seated in a niche of rock which has been since named “Sarah Bernhardt’s armchair.” Many tourists have sat there since, and many have sent me verses. I returned to Paris when my holiday was finished. But I was still very weak and could not take up my work until toward the month of November. I played all the pieces of my _répertoire_, and I was annoyed at not having any new rôles. One day Perrin came to see me in my sculptor’s studio. He began to talk at first about my busts; he told me that I ought to do his medallion, and asked me, incidentally, if I knew the rôle of _Phèdre_. Up to this time I had played only _Aricie_, and the part of _Phèdre_ seemed formidable to me. I had, however, studied it for my own pleasure. “Yes, I know the rôle of _Phèdre_. But I think if ever I had to play it I should die of fright.”