I must confess to a feeling which enters into my tastes to such an extent as to be indicative of my character. I was still so youthful that I felt uneasy about the ribbon which seemed to blaze and draw all eyes.
My face was still moist from those lavish embraces and I was planning to go home to the country when I was stopped on the corner of the Rue de la Paix by M. Halanzier, the director of the Opéra. I was surprised the more, for I believed that I was only moderately thought of at the Great House as a result of the refusal of my ballet, Le Preneur de Rats.
But M. Halanzier had a frank and open mind.
"What are you doing?" he asked. "I hear nothing of you."
I may add that he had never spoken to me before.
"How could I dare to speak of my work to the director of the Opéra?" I replied, thoroughly confused.
"And if I want you to?"
"Well, I have a simple work in five acts, Le Roi de Lahore, with Louis Gallet."
"Come to my house, 18 Place Vendome, to-morrow and bring your manuscript."
I rushed to tell Gallet, and then went home to Fontainebleau, carrying my wife the two bits of news, one obvious in my buttonhole, and the other the greatest hope I had ever had.