"Do you think it is a wig?"
"Oh! no, that is her own hair—but what a revelation of loveliness!
And what a carriage!"
"But her voice above all! I do not think that I have ever heard such declamation!"
"She is still at the Conservatoire?"
"Yes."
"The Theatre-Française ought to engage her immediately. They would find it would at once increase their subscription list."
"They say that her father is very much distressed to see her in the theatre. Why there they are, the Darbois. Don't you see them, in that box far back? They are looking very pleased."
A tall, pale man passed by.
"Ah! there goes Count Styvens. Have you read the article he wrote in the Debats this morning?"
"No, he puts me to sleep."