We were discovered. Somewhat annoyed I came out. I saw before me a man with a large tussore cloak on, a field glass strapped on his shoulders, a gray bowler hat, and a red, happy face with a little pointed beard. I glanced at this commonplace-looking individual with anything but favor. He lifted his hat:
“Mme. Sarah Bernhardt is here?”
“What do you want with me, sir?”
“Here is my card, madame.”
I read: “Gambard, Nice, Villa des Palmiers.” I looked at him with astonishment, and he was still more astonished to see that his name did not produce any impression on me. He had a foreign accent.
“Well, you see, madame, I come to ask you to sell us your group, ‘After the Tempest.’”
I began to laugh.
“Ma foi, monsieur, I am treating for that with the firm of Susse, and they offer me 6000 francs. If you will give ten, you may have it.”
“Quite right,” he said. “Here are 10,000 francs. Have you pen and ink?”
“No.”