ue and deep.

The French theatre declined after the departure of Monsieur and Madame
Delille. I had entirely ceased attending or taking any interest in it.

Two years passed, when one day, in a lonely part of the Thiergarten, I
met--whom do you think? M. Delille; but pale, sad, solitary, subdued.

"Well, here I am again," said he. "All my fine dreams have disappeared.
I won't bore you with the story. The fact is--that is to say--one can
never count upon one's plans in this world. I have lost my fortune, and
accepted an invitation to become director of the Berlin French theatre.
I am to form a new company. There is a great opposition to this, and the
matter has raised up against me furious enemies. They accuse me of
everything base. You know me. You know I would not be guilty of anything
dishonorable."

I looked into his sad, ingenuous face, and replied:

"I am sure you would not."

"Oh, I thank you. But the worst remains to be told. My wife--my poor,
dear wife--who had been my consolation in all this trouble! _Pauvre
Marie!_ she is very ill, and I was obliged to leave her in Paris, or to
lose all our prospects. She would have it so. This annoys me. This makes
me unhappy. With her I am proof against all troubles. Ah, monsieur, you
do not know my Marie. The most faithful, the most gentle, the purest,
the----"

"But is she so dangerously ill?"

"I hope not. I think not. She will be here in a few weeks. The doctor
has given me his _word of honor_."

A couple of months more. A series of articles, in the mean time,
appeared in the newspapers against M. Delille and the new French theatre
government. The venomous shafts were launched by an able hand. Gall is
sweet compared with them. An actor is the most sensitive of human
beings. His reputation is his all. The personal malice and interest of
the writer were obvious, but the public were too busy to examine. The
crowd enjoy a battle, without caring much about the right.

I met M. Delille a few days after the appearance of the fifth of these
articles, and expressed my indignation. His manner of viewing the
subject was really noble and more instructive to me than many a sermon.
He spoke temperately of the _desagrement_ of his position and the wisdom
of keeping on his way calmly. "An actor," he said, "is a public target.
Every one has the right to shoot at him. I cannot always forget, but I
try to forgive."

"And your wife?"

His face darkened.

"Oh, I am weary. Sh