“At the end of the week,” was the reply, “I shall be able to get up. Within ten days I shall take a walk in the garden, and within a fortnight I am to go to St. Germain and complete my convalescence at the Pavillon Henri IV. Come and see me soon and we will talk.” I took advantage of the permission, and in the course of my visits I was able to take down, from the great artiste’s own lips, the information contained in these pages, by far the greater part of which information will be new to the public. [Illustration: Mme. Sarah Bernhardt and her son Maurice at the age of five.] “I was born in Paris,” Mme. Sarah Bernhardt told me, “at No. 265 Rue St. Honoré, in the house also occupied by my old friend, Mme. Guérard, who is still bright and hearty in spite of her seventy-six years. She saw me come into the world, and she was present at the birth of my son Maurice, and of my grand-daughter. “My mother, as you know, was a Dutch Jewess. She was fair, short, and round, with a long body and short legs, but she had a pretty face and beautiful blue eyes. She spoke French badly, and with a strong foreign accent. She had fourteen children, among them being two pairs of twins. I was the eleventh child. I was put out to nurse with a _concierge_, and the arrangement worked well enough as long as I was quite small; but I began to find my confinement wearisome, and one day, when I was at the window of the _concierge’s_ room--you know those little arched windows that are still to be seen in the entresols of old houses--I saw my mother coming in through the _porte-cochère_, and I fell out of the window in my haste to reach her! She realized the situation, and I was taken home, where I remained several years with my mother and sisters. My education had to be thought of, and as my father insisted on my being baptized, I was sent to the Augustinian convent at Grandchamp, Versailles. Thus, at the age of twelve I became a Christian, was baptized, received my first communion on the following day, and was confirmed on the day after with three of my sisters. I became very pious. I was seized with an extraordinary, passionate adoration for the Virgin. For a long time I cherished a tiny gold image of her which some one had given me. One day it was stolen, to my great grief. [Illustration: Mme. Sarah Bernhardt and her son Maurice at the age of eleven.]