“Yes, my dear,” put in Agar, “you are going to play it for him. It is a little masterpiece, and I am sure you will make a gigantic success.”
“Oh, and you too. You will be so beautiful in it!” said the poet, gazing rapturously at Agar.
I was called on to the stage just at this moment, and on returning a few minutes later I found the young poet talking in a low voice to the beautiful tragédienne. I coughed, and Agar, who had taken my arm-chair, wanted to give it me back. On my refusing it she pulled me down on to her lap. The young man drew up his chair and we chatted away together, our three heads almost touching. It was decided that after reading the piece I should show it to Duquesnel, who alone was capable of judging poetry, and that we should then get permission from both managers to play it at a benefit that was to take place after our next production.
The young man was delighted, and his pale face lighted up with a grateful smile as he shook hands excitedly. Agar walked away with him as far as the little landing which projected over the stage. I watched them as they went, the magnificent statue-like woman and the slender outline of the young writer. Agar was perhaps thirty-five at that time. She was certainly very beautiful, but to me there was no charm about her, and I could not understand why this poetical Bonaparte was in love with this matronly woman. It was as clear as daylight that he was, and she too appeared to be in love. This interested me infinitely. I watched them clasp each other’s hands, and then, with an abrupt and almost awkward movement, the young poet bent over the beautiful hand he was holding and kissed it fervently.
Agar came back to me with a faint colour in her cheeks. This was rare with her, for she had a marble-like complexion. “Here is the manuscript!” she said, giving me a little roll of paper.
The rehearsal was over, and I wished Agar good-bye, and on my way home read the piece. I was so delighted with it that I drove straight back to the theatre to give it to Duquesnel at once. I met him coming downstairs.
“Do come back again, please!” I exclaimed.
“Good heavens, my dear girl, what is the matter?” he asked. “You look as though you have won a big lottery prize.”
“Well, it is something like that,” I said, and entering his office, I produced the manuscript,
“Read this, please,” I continued.