One evening, seeing Mlle. Balthy, the famous comic reciter, at the Casino and knowing, by hearsay, what a witty woman she was, he told me that he would be glad to meet her; and nothing was easier than to satisfy the King's wish. Nevertheless, the idea frightened me a little: the humour of the charmingly eccentric artist that Balthy is, sometimes adopts so very daring a form, and I dreaded lest her remarks might be a little too "startling." I spoke my mind on the subject to the King. "Never fear, Paoli," he said. "Mlle. Balthy's 'startling' side will amuse me immensely: you need not be a greater royalist than the King!" So I went in search of the delightful creature: "My dear Balthy," I said, "come with me and be presented to the King." "To George?" she replied, winking her eye. I shuddered with dismay! "To His Majesty the King of the Hellenes, yes." "Come on!" But lo and behold, in the King's presence, Balthy--O, wonder of wonders!--lost all her self-assurance. I expected to see her tap the King on the shoulder; instead, she made him an elaborate curtsey. In reply to the compliments which he paid her she was content modestly to lower her eyes: she even went so far as to blush! We might have been at court. And, when the King, not knowing what to think, and feeling perhaps a trifle disappointed, confessed his surprise at her shyness: "What can you expect?" she declared. "If even you were merely a president of the republic, it wouldn't put me out; but a king--that makes me feel uncomfortable! And, besides, no king can care for thin women; and I should look like a sardine, even if you put me next to Sarah Bernhardt!" The ice was broken. The Balthy of tradition began to peep through the surface and the King was delighted. Our guest did more than show his liking for the shining light of the profession: he numbered friends also among the humble performers at the Grand Théâtre. Sabadon, the good, jolly, indescribable Sabadon, who for twenty years had sung first "heavy bass" at the theatre of the town, was one of them. This is how I discovered the fact: when the King came to Aix, some years ago, Sabadon shouldered his way to the front row of the spectators who were waiting outside the station to see His Majesty arrive. The enthusiastic crowd kept on shouting, "Long live King George!" and Sabadon, with his powerful voice, his "heavy bass" voice, which had filled all the "grand theatres" in the provinces, Sabadon, with his southern accent (he was from Toulouse) shouted louder than all the rest and, so that he might shout more freely, had taken a step forward. But a policeman was watching; and fearing lest the royal procession should be disturbed by this intrusive person, he walked up to him and, in a bullying tone, said: "Get back; and look sharp about it. You don't imagine you're going to stand in the King's road, do you?"