n, a
little vest, a collar, and cravat, and a paletot of small dimensions;
the whole being the costume of a brother of one of the pupils. Having
loosened my hair out of its braids, made up the long back-hair close,
and brushed the front hair to one side, I took my hat and gloves in my
hand and came out. M. Paul was waiting, and so were the others. He
looked at me. "That may pass in a pensionnat," he pronounced. Then
added, not unkindly, "Courage, mon ami! Un peu de sangfroid--un peu
d'aplomb, M. Lucien, et tout ira bien."

St. Pierre sneered again, in her cold snaky manner.

I was irritable, because excited, and I could not help turning upon her
and saying, that if she were not a lady and I a gentleman, I should
feel disposed to call her out.

"After the play, after the play," said M. Paul. "I will then divide my
pair of pistols between you, and we will settle the dispute according
to form: it will only be the old quarrel of France and England."

But now the moment approached for the performance to commence. M. Paul,
setting us before him, harangued us briefly, like a general addressing
soldiers about to charge. I don't know what he said, except that he
recommended each to penetrate herself with a sense of her personal
insignificance. God knows I thought this advice superfluous for some of
us. A bell tinkled. I and two more were ushered on to the stage. The
bell tinkled again. I had to speak the very first words.

"Do not look at the crowd, nor think of it," whispered M. Paul in my
ear. "Imagine yourself in the garret, acting to the rats."

He vanished. The curtain drew up--shrivelled to the ceiling: the bright
lights, the long room, the gay throng, burst upon us. I thought of the
black-beetles, the old boxes, the worm-eaten bureau. I said my say
badly; but I said it. That first speech was the difficulty; it revealed
to me this fact, that it was not the crowd I feared so much as my own
voice. Foreigners and strangers, the crowd were nothing to me. Nor did
I think of them. When my tongue once got free, and my voice took its
true pitch, and found its natural tone, I thought of nothing but the
personage I represented--and of M. Paul, who was listening, watching,
prompting in the side-scenes.

By-and-by, feeling the right power come--the spring demanded gush and
rise inwardly--I became sufficiently composed to notice my
fellow-actors. Some of them played very well; especially Ginevra
Fanshawe, who had to coquette be