I searched everywhere, greedily, for all that had to do with the horrible period of the Terror, in all the engravings which would give me the sinister dark story of that epoch, in order to make the scenes in the second act as true as possible, and I confess that I like it. I returned to Paris to my room Rue de Vaugirard, and wrote the music of _Thérèse_ during the winter and spring (I finished it in the summer at the seashore). I remember that one morning the work on one situation demanded the immediate assistance of my collaborator, Jules Claretie, and that it unnerved me a good deal. I decided forthwith to write to the Minister of Posts, Telegraphs and Telephones and ask him to grant me an almost impossible thing: to place a telephone in my room before four o'clock. Naturally the tone of my letter reflected that of a deferential petition. How could I have hoped for it? When I returned from my affairs, I found on my mantel a pretty telephone apparatus which was quite new. The Minister, M. Bérard, one of our most distinguished men of letters, had felt bound to interest himself in my capricious wish on the spot. He had sent a crew of twenty men with everything required for a rapid installation. Dear, charming minister! I love him the more for his kindly word one day. "I was happy," he said, "to give you such pleasure, to you who have given me so much pleasure at the theater with your works." _Pari pari refertur_, yes, it was returning like for like, but done with a grace and kindness which I appreciated highly. Hello!... Hello! At the first attempt I was very clumsy of course. All the same I managed to hold a conversation. I also learned, another useful kindness, that my number would not appear in the Annuaire. Consequently nobody could call me up. I was the only one who could use the marvellous instrument. I did not wait long to call up Claretie and he was much surprised by the call from the Rue Vaugirard. I told him my ideas about the difficult scene which had brought about the installation of the telephone. The difficulty was in the final scene. I telephoned to him, "Cut Thérèse's throat and it will be all right." I heard an unknown voice crying excitedly (our wire was crossed): "Oh, if I only knew who you were, you scoundrel, I would denounce you to the police. A crime like that! Who is to be the victim?" Suddenly Claretie's voice: "Once her throat is cut she will be put in the cart with her husband. I prefer that to poison." The other man's voice: "Oh, that's too much! Now the rascals want to poison her. I'll call the superintendent. I want an inquiry!" A terrible buzzing ensued; then a blissful calm. It was time; with a subscriber roused to such a pitch, Claretie and I ran the chance of a bad quarter of an hour! I still tremble at the thought of it.