One morning the papers said that the King and Queen of England were going to spend several days in Paris.
I was then dancing at the Hippodrome and, remembering what Princess Marie of Roumania had told me, I decided not to let this occasion slip, and I wrote to the Queen herself, asking if she would be kind enough to set aside an hour in which I might give a performance, at her own convenience and whenever she chose.
I should never, indeed, have supposed it possible to ask her to come to the Hippodrome. One of her maids of honour answered the note, saying that Her Majesty’s stay was of limited duration, and that she had already accepted too many invitations to undertake any new engagements.
After that I thought no more of the Queen.
Arriving at a matinee one Thursday, I noticed in front of the Hippodrome quite an impressive line of carriages, all displaying the royal insignia.
“The Queen has sent some one to my matinee,” I thought. “She wants to know whether my dances are really worth seeing. If I make a pleasant impression the Queen will perhaps some day ask me to dance before her.”
I went into my dressing-room. I had nearly finished my preparations when the manager rushed in post haste calling out:
“It’s four o’clock and the Queen has been waiting since half-past two.”
“What! The Queen is here! Why didn’t you inform me sooner?”
He was too unnerved to make a lengthy explanation. I hurried down and two minutes later I was on the stage.