She whom I now saw for the first time was the Eve from whose womb a new dramatic world was to spring. As for Philippe, who eclipsed her at that time, with the dignity and majesty of his steps and gestures, his was the acting of the pure old-fashioned melodrama of Pixérécourt and Caignez. No one could wear yellow top boots, a buff tunic embroidered in black, a plumed toque and a cross-handled sword like Philippe. This attire, at that period, went by the name of the costume of a cavalier. Lafont carried it off perfectly in _Tancrède_ and in _Adélaïde Duguesclin._ Philippe died the first. His death made almost as much stir as his life. As I shall not have occasion to speak of him again, and as, had he lived, he would not have had anything to do with contemporary art, we will finish his story here. Philippe died on 16 October 1824--that is to say, one month, to the day, after the death of Louis XVIII. On the 18th, they brought his body to the church of Saint-Laurent, his own parish church; but the clergy refused to take it in. The same thing happened with regard to Mademoiselle Raucourt. But Philippe's comrades and all his public admirers decided to go forward with stout hearts, to proceed without uproar, or violent acts, or rebellious deeds. They drew the shell from the hearse: six actors from the different Paris theatres bore it on their shoulders, and, followed by over three thousand people, they took it to the Tuileries. They meant to deposit the coffin in the Castle courtyard, to demand justice, and not to withdraw until they had received it. The resolution was all the more impressive as it was accomplished with composure and solemnity. The cortège was moving along the boulevards, and had reached the top of the rue Montmartre, when a squadron of police rushed out at full gallop, swords in hand, and barred the entire width of the boulevard. Then a council of deliberation was held over the bier, and, still with the same calmness and the same composure, a deputation of five was elected to go to the Tuileries and to ask for the prayers of the Church and a Christian burial for the body of poor Philippe. These five deputies were: MM. Étienne, Jourdan, Colombeau, Ménessier and Crosnier. Charles X. refused to receive them, and sent them back to M. de Corbières, the Minister for the Interior. M. de Corbières, very brutal by nature, replied roughly that the clergy had their laws, that it was not his business to transgress them, although he was in charge of the police of the realm. The five deputies brought back this reply to the three thousand Parisians camped in the boulevard, round the coffin that was craving burial. The bearers then took the body up again on their shoulders and pursued their course with it along the road to Père-Lachaise. Victory remained on the side of authority, as the saying is; only, it is by such kinds of victories that authority cuts its own throat. "Another