“Well, then, mademoiselle, I will think it over,” he said rising to show me that the interview was at an end. I went back home determined to say nothing to my mother, but my little sister when questioned about her wound had told everything in her own way, exaggerating, if possible, the brutality of Mme. Nathalie and the audacity of what I had done. Rosa Baretta, too, had been to see me and had burst into tears, assuring my mother that my engagement would be canceled. The whole family was very much excited and distressed when I arrived, and when they began to argue with me it made me still more nervous. I did not take calmly the reproaches which one and another of them addressed to me, and I was not at all willing to follow their advice. I went to my room and locked myself in. The following day no one spoke to me and I went up to Mme. Guérard to be comforted and consoled. Several days passed by and I had nothing to do at the theater. Finally, one morning, I received a notice requesting me to be present for the reading of a play. It was “Dolorès,” by M. De Bornier. This was the first time I had been asked to the reading of a new piece. I was evidently to have the creation of a rôle. All my sorrows were at once dispersed like a cloud of butterflies. I told my mother of my joy, and she naturally concluded that as I was asked to go to a reading, my engagement was not to be canceled and I was not to be asked again to apologize to Mme. Nathalie. I went to the theater, and to my utter surprise I received from M. Davennes the rôle of _Dolorès_, the chief part in Bornier’s play. I knew that Favart, who should have had this rôle, was not well, but there were other _artistes_ for it, and I could not get over my joy and surprise. Nevertheless, I felt somewhat uneasy. A terrible presentiment has always warned me of any troubles about to come upon me. I had been rehearsing for five days when one morning, on going upstairs, I suddenly found myself face to face with Nathalie, seated under Gérôme’s portrait of Rachel, known as “The Red Pimento.” I did not know whether to go downstairs again or to pass by. My hesitation was noticed by the spiteful woman. “Oh, you can go by, mademoiselle,” she said. “I have forgiven you, as I have avenged myself. The rôle that you like so much is not to be left to you after all.” I went by without uttering a word. I was thunderstruck by her speech, which I guessed would prove true. I did not mention this incident to anyone, but continued rehearsing. It was on Tuesday that Nathalie had spoken to me, and on Friday I was disappointed to hear that Davennes was not there and that there was to be no rehearsal. Just as I was getting into my cab the hall porter ran out to give me a letter from Davennes. The poor man had not ventured to come himself and give me the news, which he was sure would be so painful to me.