“Well, what do you think of it?” asked my godfather, when the curtain fell. I did not answer and he laid his hand on my head and turned my face round toward him. I was crying, big tears rolling slowly down my cheeks, those tears that come without any sobs and without any hope of ever ceasing. My godfather shrugged his shoulders, and getting up, left the box, banging the door after him. Mamma, losing all patience with me, proceeded to review the house through her opera glass, Mlle. De Brabender passed me her handkerchief; my own had fallen down and I had not the courage to pick it up. * * * * * The curtain had been raised for the second piece, “Amphytrion,” and I made an effort to listen, for the sake of pleasing my governess, who was so gentle and conciliating. I can only remember one thing, and that is that _Alcinène_ seemed to me to be so unhappy that I burst into loud sobs, and that the whole house, very much amused, looked at our box. My mother, deeply annoyed, took me out, and Mlle. De Brabender went with us. My godfather was furious, and muttered: “She ought to be shut up in a convent and left there! Good Heavens, what a little idiot the child is!” This was the début of my artistic life! CHAPTER V I RECITE “THE TWO PIGEONS” I was beginning to think, though, of my new career. Books were sent to me from everywhere: Racine, Corneille, Molière, Casimir Delavigne.... I opened them, but as I did not understand them at all, I quickly closed them again, and read my little La Fontaine, which I loved passionately. I knew all his fables, and one of my delights was to make a bet with my godfather or with M. Meydieu, our learned and tiresome friend. I used to bet that they would not recognize all the fables, if I began with the last verse and went backward to the first one, and I often won the bet. A line from my aunt arrived one day, telling my mother that M. Auber, who was then Director of the _Conservatoire_, was expecting us the next day at nine in the morning. I was about to put my foot in the stirrup. My mother sent me with Mme. Guérard. M. Auber received us very affably, as the Duc de Morny had spoken to him of me. I was very much impressed by him, with his refined face and white hair, his ivory complexion and magnificent black eyes, his fragile and distinguished look, his melodious voice and the celebrity of his name. I scarcely dared answer his questions. He spoke to me very gently, and told me to sit down. “You are very fond of the stage?” he began. “Oh, no, monsieur!” I answered. This unexpected reply amazed him. He looked at Mme. Guérard from under his heavy eyelids, and she at once said: