In the month of December, 1900, I saw come to my publishers, where they knew they could find me, Lucien Hillemacher, since dead, alas, accompanied by a group of old Grand Prix. He delivered to me on parchment the signatures of more than five hundred of my old pupils. The pages were bound into a thin octavo volume, bound luxuriously in Levant morocco, spangled with stars. On the fly-leaves in brilliant illumination, along with my name, were the two dates: 1878-1900. The signatures were preceded by the following lines: _Dear Master:_ Happy at your nomination as Grand Officer of the Legion of Honor, your pupils unite in offering you this evidence of their deep and affectionate gratitude. The names of the Grand Prix of the Institute who showed me their gratitude in this way were: Hillemacher, Henri Rabaud, Max D'Ollone, Alfred Bruneau, Gaston Carraud, G. Marty, André Floch, A. Savard, Crocé-Spinelli, Lucien Lambert, Ernest Moret, Gustave Charpentier, Reynaldo Hahn, Paul Vidal, Florent Schmitt, Enesco, Bemberg, Laparra, d'Harcourt, Malherbe, Guy Ropartz, Tiersot, Xavier Leroux, Dallier, Falkenberg, Ch. Silver, and so many other dear friends of the class! Ambroise Thomas saw that I had no thought of standing for the Institute as he had done me the honor of advising me and was good enough to warn me that I still had two days left in which to send out the letter of candidature for the Académie des Beaux Arts. He advised me to make it short, adding that the mention of titles was necessary only when one was able to ignore them. This sensible remark rather wounded my modesty.... Election day was fixed for Saturday, November 30. I knew that there were many candidates and that first and foremost among them was Saint-Saëns, whose friend and great admirer I was and always have been. I yielded to Ambroise Thomas without the slightest expectation of being elected. I had spent the day as usual giving lessons in the various parts of Paris. That morning, however, I had said to Hartmann, my publisher, that I should be at the house of a pupil, No. 11, Rue Blanche, that evening between five and six. And I said, laughing, that he would know where to find me to announce the result whatever it was. Whereupon Hartmann said grandiloquently, "If you are a member of the Institute this evening, I will ring twice and you will understand me." I was about to begin work at the piano, my mind all on my work, on the _Promenades d'un Solitaire_, by Stephen Heller (What a dear musician, that Alfred de Musset of the piano, as they called him!) when two sharp rings of the bell sounded. My heart stopped. My pupil could not make out what was the matter. A servant dashed in and said, "There are two gentlemen who want to embrace your professor." Everything was explained. I went with those "Messieurs," even more startled than happy, and leaving my pupil probably better pleased than I was.