I agreed to everything, and was only too delighted at such a windfall. This man promised to send me two days after his return 120,000 francs, and he kept his word. My reason for giving the details of this little episode, which after all belongs to my life, is to show how differently things turn out from what seems likely according to logic or according to our own expectations. It is quite certain that the accident which had just then happened to me scattered to the winds the hopes and plans of my life. I had arranged for myself a luxurious home with the money that my father and mother had left me. I had kept by me and invested a sufficient amount of money so as to be sure to complete my monthly salary for the next two years: I reckoned that at the end of the two years I should be in a position to demand a very high salary. And all these arrangements had been upset by the carelessness of a domestic. I had rich relatives and very rich friends, but not one amongst them stretched out a hand to help me out of the ditch into which I had fallen. My rich relatives had not forgiven me for going on to the stage. And yet Heaven knows what tears it had cost me to take up this career that had been forced upon me. My Uncle Faure came to see me at my mother’s house, but my aunt would not listen to a word about me. I used to see my cousin secretly, and sometimes his pretty sister. My rich friends considered that I was wildly extravagant, and could not understand why I did not place the money I had inherited in good, sound investments. I received a great deal of verse on the subject of my fire. Most of it was anonymous. I have kept it all, however, and I quote the following poem, which is rather nice: Passant, te voilà sans abri: La flamme a ravagé ton gite. Hier plus léger qu’un colibri; Ton esprit aujourd’hui s’agite, S’exhalant en gémissements Sur tout ce que le feu dévore. Tu pleures tes beaux diamants?... Non, tes grands yeux les ont encore! Ne regrette pas ces colliers Qu’ont à leur cou les riches dames! Tu trouveras dans les halliers, Des tissus verts, aux fines trames! Ta perle?... Mais, c’est le jais noir Qui sur l’envers du fossé pousse! Et le cadre de ton miroir Est une bordure de mousse! Tes bracelets?... Mais, tes bras nus, Tu paraîtras cent fois plus belle! Sur les bras jolis de Vénus, Aucun cercle d’or n’étincelle! Garde ton charme si puissant! Ton parfum de plante sauvage! Laisse les bijoux, O Passant, A celles que le temps ravage!