I went to the theatre, and to my utter surprise I received from M. Davennes the _rôle_ of Dolorès, the chief part in Bouilhet’s play. I knew that Favart, who should have had this _rôle_, was not well; but there were other artistes, 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 pass, Mademoiselle,” she said. “I have forgiven you, as I have avenged myself. The _rôle_ that you like so much is not going to be for 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 any one, 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. He explained to me in his letter that on account of my extreme youth—the importance of the _rôle_—such responsibility for my young shoulders—and finally that as Madame Favart had recovered from her illness, it was more prudent that, &c. &c. I finished reading the letter through blinding tears, but very soon anger took the place of grief. I rushed back again and sent my name in to the manager’s office. He could not see me just then, but I said I would wait. After one hour, thoroughly impatient, taking no notice of the office-boy and the secretary, who wanted to prevent my entering, I opened the door of M. Thierry’s office and walked in. All that despair, anger against injustice, and fury against falseness could inspire me with I let him have, in a stream of eloquence only interrupted by my sobs. The manager gazed at me in bewilderment. He could not conceive of such daring and such violence in a girl so young. When at last, thoroughly exhausted, I sank down in an arm-chair, he tried to calm me, but all in vain. “I will leave at once,” I said. “Give me back my contract and I will send you back mine.” Finally, tired of argument and persuasion, he called his secretary and gave him the necessary orders, and the latter soon brought in my contract. “Here is your mother’s signature, Mademoiselle. I leave you free to bring it me back within forty-eight hours. After that time if I do not receive it I shall consider that you are no longer a member of the theatre. But believe me, you are acting unwisely. Think it over during the next forty-eight hours.”