A ring at the front door bell cut short her words. They listened silently, and heard the door open, and someone come in. Then the maid entered with a card. François Darbois rose at once. "I will see him in the salon," he said. He handed the card to his wife and went to meet his visitor. Esperance leaned towards her mother and read with her the celebrated name, "Victorien Sardou." Together they questioned the import of this visit, without being able to find any satisfactory explanation. When François entered the salon, Sardou was standing, his hands clasped behind him, examining through half-closed eyes a delicate pastel, signed Chaplain--a portrait of Madame Darbois at twenty. At the professor's entry, he turned round and exclaimed with the engaging friendliness that was one of his special charms, "What a very pretty thing, and what superb colour!" Then advancing, "It is to M. François Darbois that I have the pleasure of speaking, is it not?" He had not missed the formality in the surprise evinced by the professor as, without speaking, the professor bowed him towards a chair. "Let me say to begin with, my dear professor, that I am one of your most fervent followers. Your last book, _Philosophy is not Indifference_, is, in my opinion, a work of real beauty. Your doctrine does not discourage youth, and after reading your book, I decided to send my sons to your lectures." François Darbois thanked the great author. The ice was broken. They discussed Plato, Aristotle, Montaigne, Schaupenhauer, etc. Victorien Sardou heard the clock strike; he had lunched hastily and had to be back at the Conservatoire by two o'clock, as the jury still had to hear eleven pupils. He began laughing and talking very fast, in his habitual manner: "I must tell you, however, why I have come; your daughter, who passed her examination this morning, is very excellent. She has the making of a real artist; the voice, the smile, the grace, the distinction, the manner, the rhythm. This child of fifteen has every gift! I am now arranging a play for the Vaudeville. The principal rôle is that of a very young girl. Just at present there are only well-worn professionals in the theatre." He rose. "Will you trust your daughter to me? I promise her a good part, an engagement only for my play, and I assure you of her success." M. Darbois, in his amazement and in spite of the impatience of the academician, withheld his answer. "Pray permit me," he said, touching the bell, "to send for my daughter. It is with great anxiety, I admit to you, that I have given her permission to follow a theatrical career, so now I must consult her, while still trying to advise." Then to the maid, "Ask Madame and Mademoiselle to come here." Sardou came up to the professor and pressed his hand gratefully. "You are consistent with your principles. I congratulate you; that is very rare," he said. The two ladies came in.