He smiled. “My brother is the partner of Raymond Deslandes. My brother—to put it plainly—is myself. All the money put in the affair by us is mine. I am the sole master. What salary do you want?”
“But—— I really don’t know.”
“Will fifteen hundred francs per performance suit you?”
I looked at him in stupefaction, not quite sure if he was in his right mind.
“But, Monsieur, if I do not succeed you will lose money, and I cannot agree to that.”
“Do not be afraid,” he said. “I can assure you it will be a success—a colossal success. Will you sign? And I will also guarantee you fifty performances!”
“Oh no, never! I will sign willingly, for I admire the talent of Victorien Sardou, but I do not want any guarantee. Success will depend on Victorien Sardou, and after him on me. So I sign, and thank you for your confidence.”
At my afternoon teas I showed the new contract to my friends, and they were all of opinion that luck was on my side in the matter of my resignation (from the Comédie Française).
I was to leave Paris in three days. My heart was sore at the idea of leaving France, for many sorrowful reasons. But in these Memoirs I have put on one side all that touches the inner part of my life. There is one family “me” which lives another life, and whose sensations, sorrows, joys, and griefs are born and die for a very small number of hearts.
But I felt the need of another atmosphere, of vaster space, of other skies.