No artist, even the greatest, could help being delighted at lending his presence at such an evening. After that, day by day, and always at my house, in the sitting room in the Rue de Vaugirard, I saw gathered together, animated by an equal devotion of making a success, the general secretaries of the Opéra and the Opéra-Comique, Mm. Stuart and Carbonne, and the manager of the Théâtre Lyrique de la Gaîté, M. O. de Lagoanère. My dear Paul Vidal, leader of the orchestra at the Opéra and professor of composition at the Conservatoire, was also there. The program was settled out of hand. The private rehearsals began at once. Nevertheless the fear that I felt and that I have always had when I make a promise, that I may be ill when the moment for fulfilment comes, caused me more than one sleepless night. "All's well that ends well," says the wisdom of the nations. I was wrong, as you will see, to torture myself through so many nights. As I have said, no artist would have felt happy, if he had not shared in that evening by giving his generous assistance. Our valiant president, Adrian Bernheim, by a few words of patriotism induced all the professors of the Opéra orchestra to come and rehearse the various acts interspersed through the program at six twenty-five in the evening. Nobody dined; everyone kept the appointment. To you all, my friends and confrères, my sincere thanks. I cannot properly appraise this celebration in which I played so personal a part.... There is no circumstance in life, however beautiful or serious, without some incident to mar it or to provide a contrast. All my friends wanted to give evidence of their enthusiasm by being present at the soirée at the Opéra. Among them was a faithful frequenter of the theaters who made a point of coming to express his regret at not being able to be present at this celebration. He had recently lost his uncle, who was a millionaire and whose heir he was. I offered my condolences and he went. What is funnier is that I was obliged to hear fortuitously the strange conversation about his uncle's funeral he had with the head undertaker. "If," said the latter, "Monsieur wants a first class funeral, he will have the entire church hung in black and with the arms of the deceased, the Opéra orchestra, the leading singers, the most imposing catafalque, according to the price." The heir hesitated. "Then, sir, it will be second class; the orchestra from the Opéra-Comique, second rate singers--according to the amount." Further hesitation. Whereupon the undertaker added in a sad tone, "Then it will be third class; but I warn you, Monsieur, it will not be gay!" (sic). As I am on this topic I will add that I have received a letter of congratulations from Italy which concludes with the usual salutations, but this time conceived as follows: "Believe, dear sir, in my most sincere _obsequies_." (Free translation of _ossequiosita_.) Sometimes death has as amusing sides as life has sad ones.