And you, too, my dear M. Wolff—you believe in such insanities? Who can have been giving you such false information? Yes, you are my friend, though, for in spite of all the infamies you have been told you have still a little indulgence left. Well, then, I give you my word of honor that I have never dressed as a man here in London. I did not even bring my sculptor costume with me. I give the most emphatic denial to this misrepresentation. I only went once to the exhibition which I organized, and that was on the opening day, for which I had only sent out a few private invitations, so that no one paid a shilling to see me. It is true that I have accepted some private engagements to act, but you know that I am one of the most poorly paid members of the Comédie Française. I certainly have the right, therefore, to try to make up the difference. I have ten pictures and eight pieces of sculpture on exhibition. That, too, is quite true, but as I brought them over here to sell I really must show them. As to the respect due to the House of Molière, dear M. Wolff, I lay claim to keeping that in mind more than anyone else, for I am absolutely incapable of inventing such calumnies for the sake of slaying one of its standard-bearers. And now, if the stupidities invented about me have annoyed the Parisians and if they have decided to receive me ungraciously on my return, I do not wish anyone to be guilty of such baseness on my account, so I will send in my resignation to the Comédie Française. If the London public is tired of all this fuss and should be inclined to show me ill-will instead of the indulgence hitherto accorded me, I shall ask the Comédie to allow me to leave England in order to spare our company the annoyance of seeing one of its members hooted at and hissed. I am sending you this letter by wire, as the consideration I have for public opinion gives me the right to commit such folly, and I beg you, dear M. Wolff, to accord to my letter the same honor as you did to the calumnies of my enemies. With very kind regards, Yours sincerely, SARAH BERNHARDT. This telegram caused much ink to flow. While treating me as a spoiled child, people generally agreed that I was quite right. The Comédie was most amiable, Perrin, the manager, wrote me an affectionate letter begging me to give up my idea of leaving the company. The women were most friendly. Croizette came to see me and putting her arms round me said: “Tell me you won’t do such a thing, my dear, foolish child. You won’t really send in your resignation? In the first place it would not be accepted, I can answer for that.”