I burst out into irrepressible laughter, which surprised everybody present, and when Perrin, annoyed, asked me why I was laughing like that, I exclaimed:
“At all of you—you, Dumas, Got, Croizette—and all of you who are in the plot, and who are all a little afraid of the result of your cowardice. Well, you need not alarm yourselves. I was delighted to play the Duchesse de Septmonts, but I shall be ten times more delighted to play the Stranger. And this time, my dear Sophie, I make no account of you; you are not worth considering, for you have played me a little trick which was quite unworthy of our friendship!”
The rehearsals were strained on all sides. Perrin, who was a warm partisan of Croizette, bewailed the want of suppleness of her talent, so much so that one day Croizette, out of all patience, burst out:
“Well, monsieur, you should have left the rôle to Sarah, she would have taken the part in the love scenes as you wish; I cannot do any better. You irritate me too much, I have had enough of it!” And she ran off, sobbing, into the little guignol, where she had an attack of hysteria. I followed her and consoled her as well as I could. And in the midst of her tears she kissed me, murmuring: “It is true, it is they who instigated me to do this nasty trick, and now they are bothering me.” Croizette spoke broadly—very broadly—and sometimes she had quite a provincial accent.
Then we made up our quarrel entirely.
A week before the first performance I received an anonymous letter informing me that Perrin was trying his very best to get Dumas to change the name of the piece. He wished—it goes without saying—to have the piece called “La Duchesse de Septmonts.” I rushed off to the theater to find Perrin at once. At the door I met Coquelin, who was taking the part of the Duc de Septmonts, which he did marvelously well. I showed him the letter. He shrugged his shoulders. “It is infamous! But why do you take any notice of an anonymous letter? It is not worthy of you!” We were talking at the foot of the staircase when the manager arrived.
“Here, show the letter to Perrin.” And he took it from my hands in order to show it to him. Perrin reddened slightly.
“I know this writing,” he said. “It is some one from the theater who has written this letter.”
I snatched it back from him. “Then it is some one who is well informed, and what he says is perhaps true, is it not so? Tell me, I have the right to know.”
“I detest anonymous letters.” And he went up the stairs with a slight bow, without saying anything further.