At this time Monsieur Auber was sixty-five. He was universally respected and everyone at the Conservatoire adored him. I shall always remember his pleasing, unusually bright black eyes, which remained the same until his death in May, 1871. May, 1871! We were then in open insurrection, almost in the last throes of the Commune ... and Monsieur Auber, still faithful to his beloved boulevard near the Passage de l'Opéra--his favorite walk--met a friend also in despair over the terrible days we were passing through, and said to him, in an accent of utter weariness, "Ah! I have lived too long!" Then he added, with a slight smile, "One should never abuse anything." In 1851--the date when I became acquainted with Monsieur Auber--he had already lived a long time in his old mansion in the Rue St. George, where I remember having been received soon after seven in the morning, the master's work was finished by that time, the hour at which he gave himself to the calls he welcomed so simply. Then he went to the Conservatoire in a tilbury which he ordinarily drove himself. At sight of him one was instantly reminded of the opera _La Muette de Portici_, which had exceptional good luck, and which was the most lasting success before _Robert le Diable_ made its appearance at the Opéra. To speak of _La Muette de Portici_ is to be vividly reminded of the magical effect which the duet in the second act, _Amour sacre de la patrie_, produced on the patriots in the audience when it was produced at the Théâtre de la Monnaie at Brussels. In very truth it gave the signal for the revolution which broke out in Belgium in 1830 and which brought about the independence of our neighbors on the north. The whole audience was wild with excitement, and sang the heroic strain with the artists, repeating it again and again without stopping. What master can boast of a success like that in his own career? * * * * * When my name was called, all of a tremble, I made my appearance on the stage. I was only nine years old and I had to play the finale of Beethoven's Sonata, Opus 29. What ambition! They stopped me in the usual way after I had played two or three pages. I was utterly embarrassed as I heard Monsieur Auber's voice calling me before the jury. To get down from the stage, I had to descend two or three steps. I paid no attention to them and would have gone head first if Monsieur Auber had not kindly called out, "Take care, my little man." Then he immediately asked me where I had studied so well. After replying with some pride that my mother had been my only teacher, I went out, absolutely bewildered, almost at a run, but entirely happy. _He_ had spoken to me! Next morning my mother received the official notice. I was a pupil at the Conservatoire.