to two poles was let down upon the
stage, just as they do with those songs which the actors at the
theaters are forbidden to sing; the orchestra plays the air, and the
audience sings the verses which are painted upon these white cloths.
In this case, though, the inscription in huge red letters was this:

"The part of _Mariamne_, in _Madame Mariamne and Monsieur Herod_, will
be played by

MADEMOISELLE ADRIENNE,

the most wonderful child actress in the world, who will one day
continue the glory of the name of Adrienne!"

The people shouted with delight at this. Mademoiselle Adrienne
Lecouvreur was then the idol of the Parisians, and she was moving all
Paris to tears in Monsieur Arouet's--or Voltaire's, for I continually
forget--tragedy of _Mariamne_. The present performance, I then knew,
was to be a burlesque on the play of the notary's son.

CHAPTER II

THE LITTLE ACTRESS

Just at that moment, a coach came lumbering through the narrow streets
and stopped before the gate, where two persons alighted--Mademoiselle
Lecouvreur herself and Monsieur Voltaire. I was surprised to see
Monsieur Voltaire, because I supposed he was locked up in the
Bastille, and would not be let out except to go to England. This man
has friends, but I am not one of them. He had a way of sharpening his
wit on Count Saxe, behind Count Saxe's back--and besides, Mademoiselle
Lecouvreur liked him too well. But that was because he wrote the part
of _Mariamne_ for her. Nevertheless, I did not make the mistake of
belittling him.

Jacques Haret, who knew everybody in Paris, recognized the pair as
they entered the garden. He ran forward, refused to let them pay, and
escorted mademoiselle to a bench under the purple blooming lilac hedge
where she could both see and hear well.

"It is a very great honor, Mademoiselle," said Jacques Haret, "to
entertain you in my theater."

Mademoiselle Lecouvreur, with that smile which won all hearts,
replied:

"I thank you very much, Monsieur. I can not be indifferent to the
actress who is to continue, and probably surpass, the Adrienne of
to-day."

She glanced my way, and I bowed to her, and she gave me one of
those same sweet smiles. Twenty years before, my father, the
notary, and her father, the hatter, lived next each other--and the
notary's son and the hatter's daughter often played in the streets
together. Now, she was a great actress, and I was a Tatar prince in
command of Count Saxe's body-guar