At one o'clock the door of my office opened, but behind it stood two faces whose expression left me no more room for doubt than I had had the first time. "Accepted?" I cried. "With acclamation, my dear boy," said Rousseau. "And what about the hare passage?" "Encored!" Oh! instability of human judgment! that which had revolted M. Poirson sent M. Warez into ecstasies. It seemed, then, that there were indeed hares _and_ hares, boulevards _and_ boulevards. I ascertained what the rights of the author of a vaudeville written for the Ambigu would amount to. They consisted of twelve francs for author's rights and six seats in the theatre. That meant four francs each per night and two seats. These two places were valued at forty sous. The total I should make out of my dramatic début would be six francs a day. Six francs a day, be it understood, equalled my salary and half as much again. Only, when would our first representation be given? They had promised Rousseau it should be as soon as possible, and, as a matter of fact, he was summoned to read it to the actors in a week's time. That was indeed a red-letter day. When he came back after the reading, Rousseau drew me aside. "Listen," he said; "we have become intimate friends during our ups and downs of disappointment and delight--if you are hard up for a little money...." "Hard up for money? I should think I am, indeed!" "All right; if you are in need, I will tell you of a decent fellow who will lend you some." "On what security?" "On your tickets." "On what tickets?" "Why, on your theatre tickets." "On my two seats a day?" "Yes, that is what I mean. I have sold him both my tickets and my rights ... he has paid me two hundred and fifty francs outright. So, I said to myself, I mustn't forget my friends. I puffed you up well; I told him you were a young fellow just beginning your career, but that you showed considerable promise. I left him under the impression that you I were going to surpass Scribe and Casimir Delavigne altogether, and he is expecting you this evening at the café de l'Ambigu." "What is your man's name?" "Porcher." "Good! I will go." Rousseau had already gone a little way when he came back again. "By the bye, talk to him about whatever you like, but don't run down Mélesville to him." "Why ever do you suppose I should say anything against Mélesville? I think nothing but good of him." "Oh, you callow lad! Don't you know that in the literary arena it is of those one thinks the best that one says the worst things?" "No, I did not know.... But why must one not speak ill of Mélesville to Porcher?" "Some day when I have time I will tell you." And Rousseau nodded amicably to me, and, with a wave of his hand, went off jingling his 250 francs, leaving me to puzzle as to why I might not run down Mélesville to Porcher.