The curtain falls, and the whole house applauds enthusiastically, save my neighbour, who still growls under his breath. Such inveterate animosity against a play which appeared to me to be full of interest astonished me, coming from a person who seemed so well disposed as he. He had not merely contented himself with noisy exclamations, as I have indicated, but, still worse, during the whole of the last scene he had played in a disturbing fashion with a key which he several times put to his lips. "Really, monsieur," I said, "I think you are very hard on this piece." My neighbour shrugged his shoulders. "Yes, monsieur, I know it, and the more so because the author considers himself a man of genius, a man of talent, the possessor of a good style; but he deceives himself. I saw the piece when it was played three years ago, and now I have seen it again. Well, what I said then, I repeat: the piece is dull, unimaginative, improbable. Yes, see how he makes vampires act! And then _Sir_ Aubrey! People don't talk of _Sir_ Aubrey. Aubrey is a family name, and the title of _Sir_ is only used before the baptismal name. Ah! the author was wise to preserve his anonymity; he showed his sense in doing that." I took advantage of a moment when my neighbour stopped to take breath, and I said-- "Monsieur, you said just now, 'Yes, see how he makes vampires act!' Did you not say so? I was not mistaken, was I?" "No." "Well, by employing such language you gave me the impression that you believe they really exist?" "Of course they exist." "Have you ever seen any, by chance?" "Certainly I have seen them." "Through a solar microscope?" I laughingly suggested. "No, with my own eyes, as Orgon and Tartuffe." "Whereabouts?" "In Illyria." "In Illyria? Ah! Have you been in Illyria?" "Three years." "And you saw vampires there?" "Illyria, you must know, is the historic ground of vampires like Hungary, Servia and Poland." "No, I did not know.... I do not know anything. Where were the vampires you saw?"