era susceptible of great
transformations, and of having a grand ballet annexed to the subject of
the opera itself. I chose 'Zoroastre', by M. de Cahusac. I had to adapt
words to the music of the choruses, always a difficult task. The music
remained very beautiful, of course, but my Italian poetry was very poor.
In spite of that the generous sovereign sent me a splendid gold
snuff-box, and I thus contrived at the same time to please my mother very
highly.

It was about that time that Mdlle. Vesian arrived in Paris with her
brother. She was quite young, well educated, beautiful, most amiable, and
a novice; her brother accompanied her. Her father, formerly an officer in
the French army, had died at Parma, his native city. Left an orphan
without any means of support, she followed the advice given by her
friends; she sold the furniture left by her father, with the intention of
going to Versailles to obtain from the justice and from the generosity of
the king a small pension to enable her to live. As she got out of the
diligence, she took a coach, and desired to be taken to some hotel close
by the Italian Theatre; by the greatest chance she was brought to the
Hotel de Bourgogne, where I was then staying myself.

In the morning I was told that there were two young Italians, brother and
sister, who did not appear very wealthy, in the next room to mine.
Italians, young, poor and newly arrived, my curiosity was excited. I went
to the door of their room, I knocked, and a young man came to open it in
his shirt.

"I beg you to excuse me, sir," he said to me, "if I receive you in such a
state."

"I have to ask your pardon myself. I only come to offer you my services,
as a countryman and as a neighbour."

A mattress on the floor told me where the young man had slept; a bed
standing in a recess and hid by curtains made me guess where the sister
was. I begged of her to excuse me if I had presented myself without
enquiring whether she was up.

She answered without seeing me, that the journey having greatly tried her
she had slept a little later than usual, but that she would get up
immediately if I would excuse her for a short time.

"I am going to my room, mademoiselle, and I will come back when you send
for me; my room is next door to your own."

A quarter of an hour after, instead of being sent for, I saw a young and
beautiful person enter my room; she made a modest bow, saying that she
had come herself to return my visit, a