After _Le Passant_ and the prodigious success of that adorable piece, a success in which Agar and I had our share, Chilly thought more of me, and began to like me. He insisted on paying for our costumes, which was great extravagance for him. I had become the adored queen of the students, and I used to receive little bouquets of violets, sonnets, and long, long poems—too long to read. Sometimes on arriving at the theatre as I was getting out of my carriage I received a shower of flowers which simply covered me, and I was delighted, and used to thank my worshippers. The only thing was that their admiration blinded them, so that when in some pieces I was not so good, and the house was rather chary of applause, my little army of students would be indignant and would cheer wildly, without rhyme or reason. I can understand quite well that this used to exasperate the regular subscribers of the Odéon, who were very kindly disposed towards me nevertheless, as they too used to spoil me, but they would have liked me to be more humble and meek, and less headstrong. How many times one or another of these old subscribers would come and give me a word of advice. “Mademoiselle, you were charming in _Junie_,” one of them observed; “but you bite your lips, and the Roman women never did that!” “My dear girl,” another said, “you were delicious in _François le Champi_, but there is not a single Breton woman in the whole of Brittany with her hair curled.” A professor from the Sorbonne said to me one day rather curtly, “It is a want of respect, Mademoiselle, to turn your back on the public!” “But, Monsieur,” I replied, “I was accompanying an old lady to a door at the back of the stage. I could not walk along with her backwards.” “The artistes we had before you, Mademoiselle, who were quite as talented as you, if not more so, had a way of going across the stage without turning their back on the public.” And he turned quickly on his heel and was going away, when I stopped him. “Monsieur, will you go to that door, through which you intended to pass, without turning your back on me?” He made an attempt, and then, furious, turned his back on me and disappeared, slamming the door after him. I lived some time at 16 Rue Auber, in a flat on the first floor, which was rather a nice one. I had furnished it with old Dutch furniture which my grandmother had sent me. My godfather advised me to insure against fire, as this furniture, he told me, constituted a small fortune. I decided to follow his advice, and asked _mon petit Dame_ to take the necessary steps for me. A few days later she told me that some one would call about it on the 12th. On the day in question, towards two o’clock, a gentleman called, but I was in an extremely nervous condition, and said: “No, I must be left alone to-day. I do not wish to see any one.” I had refused to be disturbed, and had shut myself up in my bedroom in a frightfully depressed state.