ermined to abate the
nuisance by one of those cruel _coups-de-main_ of which Frenchmen are
pre-eminently capable. The next night, during the performance, when
Delsarte called, he was, to his surprise and delight, shown into the
great man's presence.

"Well, sir, what do you want?"

"Pardon, Monsieur, I came to seek a place at your theatre."

"There is but one vacant, and you don't seem capable of filling that. I
want only a call-boy."

"Sir, I am prepared to fill the position of a _premier sujet_ among your
singers."

"_Imbecile!_"

"Monsieur, if my clothes are poor, my art is genuine."

"Well, sir, if you will sing for me, I will hear you shortly."

He left Delsarte alone, overjoyed at having secured the manager's ear.
In a few moments a surly fellow told him he was wanted below, and he
soon found himself with the manager upon the stage behind the green
curtain.

"You are to sing here," said the director. "There is your piano. In one
moment the curtain will be rung up. I am tired of your importunities. I
give you one chance to show the stuff you're made of. If you discard
this opportunity, the next time you show your face at my door you shall
be arrested and imprisoned as a vagrant."

The indignation excited in Delsarte by this cruel trick instantly gave
way before the reflection that success was a matter of life and death
with him, and that perhaps his last chance lay within his grasp. He
forgot his rags; every nerve became iron; and when the curtain was rung
up, a beggar with the bearing of a prince advanced to the foot-lights,
was received with derisive laughter by some, with glances of surprise
and indignation by others, and, with a sad and patient smile on his
countenance, gracefully saluted the brilliant audience. The courtliness
of his manner disarmed hostility; but when he sat down to the piano, ran
his fingers over the keys, and sang a few bars, the exquisite voice
found its way to every heart. With every moment his voice became more
powerful. Each gradation of emotion was rendered with an ease, an art,
an expression, that made every heartstring vibrate. Then he suddenly
stopped, bowed, and retired. The house rang with bravos. The
dress-circle forgot its reticence and joined in the tumult of applause.
He was recalled. This time he sang a grand lyric composition with the
full volume of his voice, aided in effect by those imperial gestures of
which he had already discovered the secret. The audience