oth hands to her temples in
moments of intense passion. The gesture was not alone ungraceful, but
from its frequency it became, in a measure, a trick; and this they
assailed with a degree of virulence far out of proportion to the
offence. Mademoiselle Mars counselled her to guard against any
mannerism, and mentioned this one in illustration. Margot--once the very
emblem of obedience to her gifted friend--resented the advice with angry
indignation, and flatly declared that her own inspirations were her best
advisers.

In the temper she had now assumed, it may be imagined how difficult had
all intercourse with her become. Her waywardness increased as the public
favor declined; and she who once might have been permitted to indulge
any caprice, was now rigidly denied even the commonest liberty. At
first, the hardest task was to blind her to the censures the press was
heaping upon her. Now, however, a new difficulty arose. It was to hint
that she no longer could count upon the fickle favor of the multitude,
and that the hour of her triumph had gone by.

At moments, it is true, in some scenes of intense passion, where a deep
emotion of the soul was to find its utterance in a few broken words,
a cry, or perhaps a look, her wonderful genius shone forth still; and,
surmounting all the prejudices of sworn enemies, the theatre would burst
forth into one of those thundering peals of applause that sound like the
very artillery of human feeling. Such a passage was there in "Bajazet."
It is the scene where Roxalane listens to the warm protestations of her
lover, of whose perfidy she is assured, and whom she herself overheard
declaring that his love for her was little other than compassion. For
a few seconds the words of adoration seemed to act on her like a spell.
She drinks them eagerly and madly; her eyes sparkle; her bosom heaves,
her half-opened lips seem, as it were, to catch the accents; when
suddenly the truth flashes across her. Her color flies; her face becomes
livid in its paleness. A terrible shudder shakes her frame. She snatches
her hand from his grasp, and turns him a look of loathing, contemptuous
aversion such as actually sickens the very heart to behold!

From, I know not what caprice, she disliked this part now, although once
it had been her favorite above all others. Her friends made every effort
to induce her to resume it, but in vain. Their entreaties, indeed, only
served to excite her opposition; and the subjec