Hartmann offered him two works: Edouard Lalo's _Le Roi d'Ya_ and my _Werther_ on sufferance. I was so discouraged that I preferred to wait before I let the work see the light. I have just written about its genesis and destiny. One day I received a friendly invitation to dine with a great American family. After I had declined, as I most often did--I hadn't time, in addition to not liking that sort of distraction--they insisted, however, so graciously that I could not persist in my refusal. It seemed to me that perhaps my afflicted heart might meet something there which would turn aside my discouragements. Does one ever know?... I was placed beside a lady who composed music and had great talent. On the other side of my neighbor was a French diplomat whose amiable compliments surpassed, it seemed to me, all limits. _Est modus in rebus_, there are limits in all things, and our diplomat should have been guided by this ancient saying together with the counsel of a master, the illustrious Talleyrand, "_Pas de zele, surtout_!" I would not think of telling the exact conversation which occurred in that charming place any more than I would think of giving the menu of what we had to eat. What I do remember is a salad--a disconcerting mixture of American, English, German, and French. But my French neighbors occupied my entire attention, which gave me the chance to remember this delightful colloquy between the lady composer and the diplomat. The Gentleman.--"So you are ever the child of the Muses, a new Orphea?" The Lady.--"Isn't music the consolation of souls in distress?" The Gentleman (insinuatingly).--"Do you not find that love is stronger than sounds in banishing heart pain?" The Lady.--"Yesterday, I was consoled by writing the music to 'The Broken Vase.'" The Gentleman (poetically).--"A nocturne, no doubt...." I heard muffled laughter. The conversation took a new turn. After dinner we went into the drawing room for music. I was doing my best to obliterate myself when two ladies dressed in black, one young, the other older, came in. The master of the house hastened to greet them and I was presented to them almost at once. The younger was extraordinarily lovely; the other was her mother, also beautiful, with that thoroughly American beauty which the Starry Republic often sends to us. "Dear Master," said the younger woman with a slight accent, "I have been asked to come to this friendly house this evening to have the honor of seeing you and to let you hear my voice. I am the daughter of a supreme court judge in America and I have lost my father. He left my mother, my sisters, and me a fortune, but I want to go on the stage. If they blame me for it, after I have succeeded I shall reply that success excuses everything." Without further preamble I granted her desire and seated myself at the piano. "You will pardon me," she added, "if I do not sing your music. That would be too audacious before you."