On the morning of the general rehearsal I received a line from Soulié; it was, with the exception of the slight correspondence previously mentioned and the sending of places for _Roméo et Juliette_, the only sign of his existence he had given me for a year. He asked me for a pass for this rehearsal. I sent him at once a pass for himself and any of his friends who might wish to accompany him. The rehearsal took place the same night. Now, in those days, general rehearsals were actual performances of the play as it would be presented finally. Friends were not yet sick of it, success had not made them indifferent or jealous, and there really seemed to be a general interest taken in the outcome of some of them. The cause we were upholding was that of every obscure aspirant who hoped to become famous some day; and they would share a good deal of the influence acquired by us, in order to make their path more sure and brilliant. Egotism made them devotees. So the general rehearsal of _Christine_ was an enthusiastic success. I left the orchestra after the fifth act, and went to pay my respects to Soulié. He was greatly moved and held out his arms to me. I embraced him with deep emotion; it had distressed me to be on cool terms with a man whom I loved and whose talent I admired more than others did, because, better than others, I appreciated that talent. "Ah!" said he, "you were certainly well advised in writing your _Christine_ alone. It is an admirable piece of work, but parts of it suffer as regards composition; that will come. Some day you will be our leading dramatist, and we your humble servants." "Come now, my dear friend," I said, "you must be mad to say such things!" "Not so; I mean what I say, upon my honour. To tell you that it gives me immense pleasure would be going too far; you would not believe me, but nevertheless it is so." I thanked him. "Look here," he said, "let us talk seriously: I know there is a plot organised against your play and that they are going to make it hot for you to-morrow night." "Oh, I felt certain of it." "Have you fifty places left in the pit?" "Yes." "Then let me have them and I will bring all my workmen from the sawmill, and we will back you up against them, never fear!" I gave him a packet of tickets without counting them, and, as they were waiting for me on the stage, I again embraced him and we parted.