first time in the streets of Paris, and the quiet of the
boulevards was wonderful after the rattling London streets. I often went
to three parties a night; but I was in a difficult position, as I could
not speak a word of the language. I met Tissot and Gambard, who had just
built Rosa Bonheur's house at Nice.

I liked the Frenchmen because they liked me, but I didn't admire them.

I tried to learn to smoke, but I never took kindly to it and soon gave
it up.

What was the thing that made me homesick for London? _Household Words._
The excitement in the 'sixties over each new Dickens can be understood
only by people who experienced it at the time. Boys used to sell
_Household Words_ in the streets, and they were often pursued by an
eager crowd, for all the world as if they were carrying news of the
"latest winner."

Of course I went to the theater in Paris. I saw Sarah Bernhardt for the
first time, and Madame Favart, Croisette, Delaunay, and Got. I never
thought Croisette--a superb animal--a "patch" on Sarah, who was at this
time as thin as a harrow. Even then I recognized that Sarah was not a
bit conventional, and would not stay long at the Comedie. Yet she did
not put me out of conceit with the old school. I saw "Les Precieuses
Ridicules" finely done, and I said to myself then, as I have often said
since: "Old school--new school? What does it matter which, so long as it
is _good enough_?"

Madame Favart I knew personally, and she gave me many useful hints. One
was never to black my eyes _underneath_ when "making up." She pointed
out that although this was necessary when the stage was lighted entirely
from beneath, it had become ugly and meaningless since the introduction
of top lights.

The friend who took me everywhere in Paris landed me one night in the
dressing-room of a singer. I remember it because I heard her complain to
a man of some injustice. She had not got some engagement that she had
expected.

"It serves you damn right!" he answered. "You can't sing a bit." For the
first time I seemed to realize how brutal it was of a man to speak to a
woman like that, and I _hated_ it.

Long afterwards, in the same city, I saw a man sitting calmly in a
_fiacre_, a man of the "gentlemanly" class, and ordering the _cocher_ to
drive on, although a woman was clinging to the side of the carriage and
refusing to let go. She was a strong, splendid creature of the peasant
type, bareheaded, with a fine open brow, and she w