n the last act I struck him with my fan, my usual business to make
_Jose_ let _Carmen_ pass. He rushed at me and caught my wrists and
shouted, "_Was faellt Ihnen denn ein_" ("What's the matter with you?")
I was frightfully upset and nearly crying by then, but had to go on. At
the last as I lay on the floor and he stood over me, he deliberately
threw his heavy dagger in my face, and I, a corpse, had to move my head
to avoid being hurt. He rushed to his dressing room and cried and
shouted for a half hour before his wife dared to go in and calm him. I
believe it was all jealousy. He had been most popular in the town, and
could not bear to share a performance with any one. The next day I could
hardly hobble; all my bones seemed wrenched; but every one was most
sympathetic and kind.

The bells in Metz were most numerous and depressing. The cathedral near
us chimed all day an out-of-tune singsong, which the natives said was,
"_Ich bin todt und komm' nicht wieder!_" ("I am dead and shall not come
again!")

The depression of the first year culminated in a smallpox epidemic,
which broke out shortly before the theatre closed. Marjorie dreamed of
it just before it happened, and that I died of it, which, of course,
haunted her all through the outbreak. It was frightfully mismanaged by
the authorities. The suspects were called for by policemen and carried
from the houses to an open wagon, (this in February and March,) and
driven to the hospitals. The _Kaserne_ or barracks where cases
occurred, were isolated; but in our daily walks we passed them with
shudders. We were both so tired and had had so many shocks and
eye-openers as to what life really is, that this last nightmare
completely obsessed and unnerved us. Our policeman neighbour carried
suspects, and of course his uniform was never even fumigated and we knew
it.

The dear little daughter of the director's wife was taken away from home
one night, in spite of her parents' remonstrances. She was ill of
rheumatic fever, and the authorities heard of it, pronounced it
smallpox, and took her away in the open carriage. She died in a few
days, and no one ever knew whether it was smallpox or not. Her mother
never quite got over it; the child was so sweet and young.

The wagon used to stand in the street before a suspect house, with
children playing around it. The police seemed to run the whole thing,
and would carry bedding out of the houses and leave it to be burned in
the street.