One of these bas-reliefs represented a scene from the _Abbé_; the other, the assassination of Monaldeschi. I came up to look at these bas-reliefs with the crowd, and I probably appreciated more than most of the gazers the power and delicacy of the work thus cleverly handled by a woman's fingers. I had read the _Abbé_, so I knew all about one of these bas-reliefs; but I was so ignorant on some portions of history that I not only did not know the incident the other piece of sculpture depicted, but I was also ignorant who were either Monaldeschi or Christine; and I left the Musée without venturing to ask anyone to tell me. As it was Sunday, and as I had not seen Soulié for several days, I decided to go and spend part of the evening with him at la Gare. At nine o'clock--after telling my mother that I should probably not be home until very late--I sweetened a cup of tea in front of a capital fire (for wood is plentiful in a saw-mill) and began a discussion with Soulié concerning the alterations his _Juliette_ would need to undergo since the English acting had come under notice. All at once, I recollected the bas-relief of the death of Monaldeschi, and, not daring to ask Soulié for particulars for fear he would make fun of me because of my ignorance, I asked him if he possessed a _Biographie universelle._ He had one, and I read the two articles on _Monaldeschi_ and on _Christine._ Then, after a few moments' reflection, in the depths of which I seemed to see all sorts of tragic characters moving amid the glitter of swords, I said to Soulié, as though he had been following my thoughts-- "Do you know, there is a terrible drama in all that?" "In what?" "In the assassination of Monaldeschi by Christine." "I should just think so." "Shall we do it together?" "No," Soulié replied emphatically; "I do not mean to work any more with others." "Why?" "Because David has promised me the Cross, through the influence of M. Portalis, when I write my first important work alone." I looked at Soulié in utter amazement. I do not think that even he himself quite realised the nature of his brusque outbursts. "Therefore," he added, "I intend to use that subject for a tragedy myself." "Oh!" I said, laying the volumes down. "That need not prevent you writing your own drama, you understand, if you mean to stick to the idea." "On the same subject as you?" "There are more theatres than one in Paris; and a dozen ways of treating a subject." "But which of us will read it at the Théâtre-Français?" "Whichever shall finish first." "Would it not annoy you?" "What the devil do you think it would do to me?" "You are not very amiable to-night." "I am not in a good temper." "What is the matter with you?" "This is the matter. If only I had seen the English actors before I had constructed my _Juliette_ I should either not have done it at all, or done it differently." "Will you take my advice?" "In what way?"