“I returned to the table and sat down. In my heart I realised that Chilly would not be all right—that it was the end. And I thought of all the times that this little man had befriended me, reviewed in my mind the occasions—yes, even on that very day—when I had been thoughtless and even brutal with him. Ah, I was sorry! If I could but have obtained his forgiveness....
“No sooner had this idea come into my head than I rushed away to put it into execution. I would fall on my knees beside my friend and teacher, and beg his forgiveness....
“At the door I was met by Victor Hugo. One look at his face and I knew that I was too late.
“Raising his voice, Hugo announced to the room: ‘Monsieur Chilly has been taken to his home; we hope that he will recover to-morrow.’ He could not tell them the truth, as they sat there at his table. Then, to me, in reply to my mute and terrified inquiry, he said, in a low voice: ‘He has gone.... A beautiful death!’
“Those who did not know the truth remained to finish dinner. Duquesnel took me home. I cried all night. And the next day a lawyer came to me and told me that almost the last act of Chilly—he had threatened it, but I had never believed that he would keep his word—had been to begin an action against me for breach of contract. I lost the case, and was sentenced to pay ten thousand francs damages, but this was paid by the Comédie, as provided in my contract.”
The death of Chilly was not the strangest event of that fatal dinner. Madame Lambquin became suddenly ill. She told everyone that a fortune-teller, only a few days previously, had prophesied she would die within a week of the death of “a little dark man.” Chilly was small and dark, and precisely seven days after his death, Madame Lambquin died.
Victor Hugo, when he heard of this latest tragedy, exclaimed:
“Without a doubt Death himself was at my dinner. I think he aimed at me, but he must be short-sighted, for one of his arrows went to my right, and slew Chilly, and the other swerved to my left, and killed Lambquin!”
A few days later Sarah received a note from Sarcey, asking her to be present at a conference in the directors’ office at the Comédie, to decide which was to be her first rôle. Sarah wished to play the part of Britanicus as her début, and naturally, as Sarcey’s note spoke of a “conference,” she anticipated that her wishes were to be deferred to.
On the way to the theatre she confided her desire to play Britanicus to Sarcey, who said nothing. Judge of Sarah’s surprise, therefore, when Sarcey opened the “conference” by announcing abruptly: “Mlle. Bernhardt believes that she would prefer to make her début in Mademoiselle de Belle Isle.”