The sight of the crowded theatre greatly disturbed the débutant; he did not know where he was, and spying in a proscenium box a man with whom he had played dominoes the night before, he bowed and took off his cap to him. Luckily, the audience took the salute for itself. The actor who was on the stage with Dodichet motioned to him that it was his turn to speak, but he had not the faintest idea what he was to say; so he turned to the prompter and said in an undertone:
"My cue! my cue!"
"I just gave it to you," retorted the prompter, with the utmost coolness.
The audience began to murmur. The actor who was playing Count Robert came to his comrade's assistance once more; he skipped part of the scene to the prelude to Joconde's famous air: J'ai longtemps parcouru le monde. Thereupon there was profound silence in the hall; for everybody was curious to hear the voice of the individual who acted so wretchedly, and they were beginning to say to one another:
"That's your Italian singer all over! The dialogue is nothing to him, and the music everything."
But on that occasion the music proved to be much worse than the dialogue. The combination of eggs, punch, wine, and tobacco had given the débutant such a peculiar voice that, when he attempted to sing, he emitted a sort of unearthly sound which reminded one of a tea kettle, a duck, and a serpent all at once.
The pit roared with laughter at first. But Dodichet coughed, spat, and tried to smile at the audience, saying:
"This is nothing! it's a cat [hoarseness]!"
Then he began again:
"'J'ai longtemps parcouru le monde!'"