When he had finished I said: “You have told me too many things that excite me, M. Perrin. I love a battle and I shall appear at the ceremony. You see I have already been warned about it. Here are three anonymous letters. Read this one, it is the nicest.” He unfolded the letter, which was perfumed with amber, and read as follows: My poor skeleton, you will do well not to show your horrible Jewish nose at the opening ceremony the day after to-morrow. I fear that it would serve as a target for all the potatoes that are now being cooked specially for you in your kind city of Paris. Have some paragraphs put in the papers to the effect that you have been spitting blood and remain in bed and think over the consequences of excessive advertisement. A SUBSCRIBER Perrin pushed the letter away from him in disgust. “Here are two more,” I said, “but they are so coarse that I will spare you. I shall go to the opening ceremony.” “Good!” replied Perrin. “They are rehearsing to-morrow, shall you come?” “I shall come,” I answered. The next day at the rehearsal the _artistes_, men and women, did not care about going on to the stage to make their bow with me. I must say, though, that they all nevertheless showed much good grace. But I declared that I wished to go on alone, although it was against the rule, but I thought I ought to face the ill humor and the cabal alone. The house was crowded when the curtain rose. The ceremony commenced in the midst of “Bravos!” The public was delighted to see its beloved _artistes_ again. They advanced two by two, one on the right and the other on the left, holding the palm and the crown to place on the pedestal of Molière’s bust. My turn came and I advanced alone. I felt that I was pale and then livid, with a will that was determined to conquer. I went forward slowly toward the footlights, but instead of bowing as my comrades had done I stood up erect and gazed with my two eyes into all the eyes turning toward me. I had been warned of the battle and did not wish to provoke it, but I would not fly from it. I waited a second and felt the thrill and the emotion that ran through the house, and then, suddenly stirred by an impulse of generous kindliness, the whole house burst into wild applause and shouts. The public, so beloved and so loving, was intoxicated with joy. That was certainly one of the finest triumphs of my whole career. Some of the _artistes_ were very delighted, especially the women, for there is one thing to remark with regard to our art, the men are more jealous of the women than the women are among themselves. I have met with many enemies among the men comedians and with very few among the women. I think that the dramatic art is essentially feminine. To paint one’s face, to hide one’s real feelings, to try to please and to endeavor to attract attention, these are all faults for which we blame women and for which great indulgence