The performance began with the third act of "Les Plaideurs," played with
extraordinary entrain. There were roars of laughter all through the
salle, or tent--none more amused than the band of schoolboys, and their
youthful enjoyment was quite contagious. People turned to look at them,
and it was evident that, if they didn't see, they _heard_, as they never
missed a point--probably knew it all by heart. Then came a recitation by
Mlle. Moreno, who looked and spoke like a tragic muse the remorse and
suffering of Phedre. The end of the performance--the two last acts of
Berenice--was enchanting. Mme. Bartet looked charming in her floating
blue draperies, and was the incarnation of the resigned, poetic, loving
woman; Paul Mounet was a grand, sombre, passionate Titus, torn between
his love for the beautiful Queen and his duty as a Roman to choose only
one of his own people to share his throne and honours. The Roman Senate
was an all-powerful body, and a woman's love too slight a thing to
oppose to it. Bartet was charming all through, either in her long
plaintes to her Confidante, where one felt that in spite of her repeated
assurances of her lover's tenderness there was always the doubt of the
Emperor's faith or in her interviews with Titus--reproaching him and
adoring him, with all the magic of her voice and smile. It was a triumph
for them both, and their splendid talent. With no decor, no room, no
scenic illusions of any kind, they held their audience enthralled. No
one minded the heat, nor the crowd, nor the uncomfortable seats, and all
were sorry when the well-known lines, said by Mme. Bartet, in her
beautiful, clear, pathetic voice

"Servons tous trois d'exemple a l'Univers
De l'amour la plus tendre et la plus malheureuse
Dont il puisse garder l'histoire douloureuse,"

brought to a close the fierce struggle between love and ambition.

As soon as it was over, I went with Sebline to compliment the actors. We
found Bartet, not in her dressing-room, but standing outside, still in
her costume, very busy photographing Mounet, superb as a Roman Emperor.
He was posing most impatiently, watching the sun slowly sinking behind
the ruins, as he wanted to photograph Berenice before the light failed,
and the time was short. They were surrounded by an admiring crowd, the
children much interested in the "beautiful lady with the stars all over
her dress." We waited a few moments, and had a little talk with them.
They said th