“Very well,” I answered, blushing, “I will get them myself.” On returning home I told my mother my troubles, and, as she was always very generous, she promptly bought me a veil of white _barège_ that fell in beautiful, large, soft folds, and a wreath of hedge roses which, at night, looked very soft and white. She also ordered me buskins from the shoemaker employed by the Comédie. The next thing to think about was the make-up box. For this my mother had recourse to the mother of Dica Petit, my fellow student at the _Conservatoire_. I went with Mme. Dica Petit to M. Massin, a manufacturer of these make-up boxes. He was the father of Léontine Massin, another _Conservatoire_ pupil. We went up to the sixth floor of a house in the Rue Réamur, and on a plain-looking door read the words: “Massin, Manufacturer of Make-up Boxes.” I knocked and a little hunchback girl opened the door. I recognized Léontine’s sister, as she had come several times to the _Conservatoire_. “Oh,” she exclaimed, “what a surprise for us! Titine,” she then called out, “here is Mlle. Sarah!” Léontine Massin came running out of the next room. She was a pretty girl, very gentle and calm in demeanor. She threw her arms round me, exclaiming: “How glad I am to see you! And so you are coming out at the Comédie. I saw it in the paper.” I blushed up to my ears at the idea of being mentioned in the paper. “I am engaged at the Variétés,” she said, and then she talked away at such a rate that I was bewildered. Mme. Petit did not enter into all this, and tried in vain to separate us. She had replied by a nod and an indifferent “Thanks” to Léontine’s inquiries about her daughter’s health. Finally, when the young girl had finished saying all she had to say, Mme. Petit remarked: “You must order your box; we have come here for that, you know.” “Ah! then you will find my father in his workshop at the end of the passage, and if you are not very long I shall still be here. I am going to rehearsal at the Variétés later on.” Mme. Petit was furious, for she did not like Léontine Massin. “Don’t wait, mademoiselle,” she said, “it will be impossible for us to stay afterwards.” Léontine was annoyed, and, shrugging her shoulders, she turned her back on my companion. She then put her hat on, kissed me, and bowing gravely to Mme. Petit, remarked: “Good-by, Mme. _Gros-tas_, and I hope I shall never see you again.” She then ran off, laughing merrily. I heard Mme. Petit mutter a few disagreeable words in Dutch, but I did not understand the meaning of them at the time. We then went to the workshop and found old Massin at his workbench, planing some small planks of white wood. His hunchback daughter kept coming in and out, humming gayly all the time. The father was glum and harassed, and had an anxious look. As soon as we had ordered the box we took our leave. Mme. Petit went out first and Léontine’s sister then put her hand into mine and said quietly: