tant, and this living death that he
suffers, this name for his past happiness that had to be sought for
among the joys of heaven!_"

I accepted as gospel truth all these high-flown fictions, and was
astonished at nothing until I came to the _Lucifer_ part; that, I
confess, rather startled me--but the finishing tirade composed me. I
thought it fascinating, thrilling, heart-rending! In my enthusiastic
pity I was, by way of expiation, admiring the whole letter when I was
disturbed by a frightful noise made by people entering the adjoining
box. I felt angry at their insulting my sadness with their heartless
gayety. I continue to read, admire and weep--my neighbors continue to
laugh and make a noise. Amidst this uproar I recognise a familiar
voice--I listen--it is certainly the Prince de Monbert--I cannot be
mistaken. Probably he has come here with strangers--he has travelled so
much that he is obliged to do the honors of Paris to grand ladies who
were polite to him abroad--but from what part of the world could these
grand ladies have come? They seem to be indulging in a queer style of
conversation. One of them boldly looked in our box, and exclaimed, "Four
women! Four monsters!" I recognised her as a woman I had seen at the
Versailles races--all was explained.

Then they played a sort of farce for their own pleasure, to the great
annoyance of the audience. I will give you a sample of it, so you can
have an idea of the wit and good taste displayed by these gentlemen. The
most intoxicated of the young men asked, between two yawns, who were the
authors of _Antigone?_ "Sophocles," said M. de Monbert. "But there are
two, are there not?" "Two _Antigones?_" said the Prince laughing; "yes,
there is Ballanche's." "Ah, yes! Ballanche, that is his name," cried out
the ignorant creature; "I knew I saw two names on the hand-bill! Do you
know them?"

"I am not acquainted with Sophocles," said the Prince, becoming more and
more jovial, "but I know Ballanche; I have seen him at the Academy."

This brilliant witticism was wonderfully successful; they all clapped so
loud and laughed so hilariously that the audience became very angry, and
called out, "Silence!" "Silence!" For a moment the noisy were quiet, but
soon they were worse than ever, acting like maniacs. At the end of each
scene, little George de S., who is a mere school-boy, cried out in
deafening tones: "Bravo! Ballanche!" then turning to the neighboring
boxes he said: "My frien