I TOOK two days’ rest before going to the theater, for I could feel the movement of the boat all the time, my head was dizzy, and it seemed to me as though the ceiling moved up and down. The twelve days on the sea had quite upset my health. I sent a line to the stage manager telling him that we would rehearse on Wednesday, and on that day as soon as luncheon was over I went to the Booth Theater, where our performances were to take place. At the door reserved for the _artistes_ I saw a compact, swaying crowd, very much animated and gesticulating. These strange-looking individuals did not belong to the _artiste_ world. They were not reporters, either, for I knew them too well, alas! to be mistaken in them. They were not there out of curiosity, either, these people, for they seemed too much occupied and then, too, there were only men. When my carriage drew up one of them rushed forward to the door of it and then returned to the swaying crowd. “Here she is, here she is!” I heard, and then all these common men with their white neckties and questionable-looking hands, with their coats flying open and trousers whose knees were worn and dirty looking, crowded behind me into the narrow passage leading to the staircase. I did not feel very easy in my mind, and I mounted the stairs rapidly. Several persons were waiting for me at the top, Mr. Abbey, Jarrett, and also some reporters, two gentlemen, and a charming and most distinguished woman whose friendship I have kept ever since, although she does not care much for French people. I saw Mr. Abbey, who was usually very dignified and cold, advance in the most gracious and courteous way to one of the men who were following me. They raised their hats to each other and, followed by the strange and brutal-looking regiment, they advanced toward the center of the stage. I then saw the strangest of sights. In the middle of the stage were my forty-two trunks. In obedience to a sign twenty of the men came forward and placing themselves, each one between two trunks, with a quick movement with their right and left hands they lifted the lids of the trunks on the right and left of them. Jarrett with frowns and an unpleasant grin held out my keys to them. He had asked me that morning for my keys for the customs. “Oh, it’s nothing!” he said, “don’t be uneasy,” and the way in which my luggage had always been respected in other countries had given me perfect confidence about it. The principal personage of the ugly group came toward me accompanied by Abbey, and Jarrett explained things to me. The man was an official from the American customhouse. The custom office is an abominable institution in every country, but worse in America than anywhere else. I was prepared for all this and was most affable to the tormenter of a traveler’s patience. He raised the melon which served him for a hat and, without taking his cigar out of his mouth made some incomprehensible remark to me.