As I waited for my change, a shabby young man came in to ask for a copy of _Le Petit Journal_, and a toy for five sous. _Le Petit Journal_, which I had just read, contained the latest details of my explorations in Crete, and instinctively I looked round. His eyes widened. I did not know him from Adam; but it was evident that _he_ knew _me_, at least by sight! I turned hot and cold with confusion. Grabbing at my coppers, I hurried out, wondering what I had better do if he addressed me. Before I had time to solve the question I heard him striding at my heels. With a deprecating bow that told me he had favours to solicit, he exclaimed, "Monsieur Panage!" "You are mistaken," I said promptly. "Oh, monsieur, I beg you to hear me," he cried, "I entreat you! In the theatre you are for ever inaccessible--will you not spare an instant to me here?" He was so sure of my identity that I realised it would be indiscreet of me to deny it any longer. Since I could not deceive, my only course was to ingratiate him. "What do you want?" I asked, fuming. "Monsieur," he broke out, "I am an actor. I have been acting in the provinces since I was a boy. I have played every kind of part from farce to tragedy. I have talent, but I have no influence, and the stage doors of Paris are shut and barred against me! No manager will listen to me, because I am too obscure to obtain an introduction to him; no one will believe that I have ability, because I cannot get a chance to prove it. Oh, I know very well what a liberty I have taken in speaking to you, but I want to get on, I want to get on--I implore you to give me a trial!" He had me in a nice fix. Apparently he was unaware that I was believed to be in Crete, but he would soon learn it by the newspaper in his pocket, and if I snubbed him he would certainly give me away. He could hold me up to ridicule--I should be the laughing-stock of Paris. It was a fine situation for me. I, the director of the Théâtre Suprême, was compelled to temporise with this provincial mummer! I scrutinised him in encouraging silence, as if mentally casting him for a part. I saw hope bounding in him. "Ah!" I said thoughtfully. "Y-e-s.... What is your favourite line?" "Character, monsieur," he panted. "And, of course, I would accept a very small salary, a very small salary indeed." I did not doubt it. I could picture him strutting and ranting on the boards of a booth for a louis a week, and holding himself lucky when he earned that. "Walk on a little way with me," I said graciously; "we can talk as we go along. I should have to see you do something before I could consider you, you know; I must be sure that you are capable. Even the gentleman who plays the servant at the Suprême and hasn't a single word to utter is an experienced comedian. You are not playing any-where in the neighbourhood? you are not in a travelling theatre about here?" "No, monsieur," he sighed, "I am out of an engagement; I am here because this is where I live."