piercing and malicious aspect. In her efforts
to hide the inequality of her legs, she walked with a stiff and awkward
air; and, wishing to be thought a wit, she increased her natural dullness
by a ceaseless flow of small talk. I persisted in behaving towards her
with a great air of respect, and one day she said that, having seen me in
the disguise of a waiter, she would not have thought I was a man of a
timid nature.

"In what respect do you think me timid?" said I; to which she gave me no
answer, but I knew perfectly well what she meant. I was tired of my part,
and I had determined to play it no more when we had acted L'Ecossaise.

All the best people at Soleure were present at our first performance. The
lame lady was delighted with the horror inspired by her acting; but she
might credit a great deal of it to her appearance. M. de Chavigni drew
forth the tears of the audience, his acting was said to be better than
the great Voltaire's. As for me, I remember how near I was to fainting
when, in the third scene of the fifth act, Lindane said to me,

"What! You! You dare to love me?"

She pronounced these words with such fiery scorn that all the spectators
applauded vehemently. I was almost put out of countenance, for I thought
I detected in her voice an insult to my honour. However, I collected
myself in the minute's respite which the loud applause gave me, and I
replied,---

"Yes; I adore you! How should I not?"

So pathetically and tenderly did I pronounce these words that the hall
rang again with the applause, and the encores from four hundred throats
made me repeat the words which, indeed, came from my heart.

In spite of the pleasure we had given to the audience, we judged
ourselves not perfect in our parts, and M. de Chavigni advised us to put
off our second performance for a couple of days.

"We will have a rehearsal to-morrow at my country house," said he, "and I
beg the favour of all your companies to dinner there."

However, we all made each other compliments on our acting. My lame friend
told me I had played well, but not so well as in the part of waiter,
which really suited me admirably. This sarcasm got the laugh on her side,
but I returned it by telling her that my performance was a work of art,
while her playing of Lady Alton was pure nature. M. de Chavigni told
Madame that the spectators were wrong to applaud when she expressed her
wonder at my loving her, since she had spoken the words disdainful