“The Emperor will be here also,” he went on, “and has specially requested that you will open the proceedings by singing the Marseillaise.”
The doors opened at six o’clock. By 6.30 the theatre was packed. The speeches were to begin an hour later. Sarah was supposed to open the meeting, but when the time came she could not be found anywhere.
Distracted officials searched the theatre high and low, shouting for the missing actress. At last the meeting began without her.
At eight o’clock Pierre Berton walked in through the stage-entrance, followed by Sarah. Berton looked as black as a thundercloud. Sarah’s eyes were flashing, and red spots of temper were on her cheeks. Her friends recognised the signals and the word was passed around: “Something has gone wrong between Pierre and Sarah ... they have had a row.”
Sarah went straight to Duquesnel, who began scolding her for being late. But she cut him short.
“I have acted for the last time with that man!” she declared, pointing to Berton.
Pierre looked on bitterly. (All this I had years later, of course, from friends who saw the scene. I had been sent to bed after my fatiguing afternoon.)
“What is the matter?” asked Duquesnel, puzzled but not despairing, for he knew Sarah and her fits of temper, although he feared her obstinacy.
“He is disloyal! He is a pro-German!”
Pierre Berton darted forward with a loud protest.