I went with him into the drawing-room and asked my question at once. He had kept his hat on and took it off to recover his self-possession. Before he could speak a word I got furiously angry—one of those rages which I sometimes have, and which are more like attacks of madness. With all that I felt of bitterness toward this man, toward Perrin, toward all this theatrical world who should have loved me and upheld me, and who betrayed me on every occasion—all that I had been accumulating of hot anger during the rehearsals, the cries of revolt against the perpetual injustice of these two men, Perrin and Dumas—I burst out with everything, in an avalanche of stinging words, which were both furious and sincere. I reminded him of his promise made in former days; of his visit to my _hôtel_ in the Avenue de Villiers; of the cowardly and underhand manner in which he had written of me, at Perrin’s request, and on the wishes of the friends of Sophie.... I spoke vehemently, without allowing him to edge in a single word. And when, worn out, I was forced to stop, I murmured, out of breath with fatigue: “What—what—what have you to say for yourself?” “My dear child,” he replied, much touched, “if I had examined my own conscience I should have said to myself all that you have just said to me so eloquently. But I can truly say, in order to excuse myself a little, that I really believed that you did not care at all about your theater; that you much preferred your sculpture, your painting, and your court. We have seldom talked together, and people led me to believe all that which I was perhaps too ready to believe. Your grief and anger have touched me deeply. I give you my word that the play shall keep its title of ‘L’Etrangère.’ And now, embrace me with a good grace, to show that you are no longer angry with me.” I embraced him, and from that day we were good friends. That evening I told the whole tale to Croizette, and I saw that she knew nothing about this wicked scheme. I was very pleased to know that. The play was very successful. Coquelin, Febvre, and I carried off the laurels of the day.