oubrette; and by Mademoiselle Sisos, a genuine _comedienne_, only sixteen
years of age and as pretty as a peach. It is six o'clock when the last
competitor has said his say, and then the jury retire to deliberate
respecting the awards. What a flutter there must be among the young things
whose future destiny is now swaying in the balance, for success means
fortune, and failure a disheartening postponement, and to the elder ones
downright and disastrous ruin of all their hopes! Half an hour passes, and
then, after what seems a weary period of suspense, the box-door is thrown
open and the jury resume their seats. Ambroise Thomas, the president of the
Conservatoire, strikes his bell and a dead silence ensues. In a full
sonorous voice he begins: "Concours of tragedy, men's class. No
prizes.--Usher, summon M. Guitry." The gifted boy comes forward to the
footlights. "M. Guitry, the jury have awarded to you a _premier accessit_."
He bows and retires amid the hearty applause of the audience. "Women's
class.--Usher, call Mademoiselle Jullien." She comes out pale and agitated,
the slight form quivering like a wind-swept flower in her robes of creamy
cashmere. Is it the Odeon that awaits her--the second prize? for in her
modesty she had only hoped for a _premier accessit._ "Mademoiselle Jullien,
the jury have awarded to you the first prize." The first prize! Those words
mean to her an assured career, a brilliant future, the doors of the Comedie
Francaise flung wide open to receive her. She falters, trembles, bows
profoundly, and goes off in a very passion of hysterical weeping. Then come
the comedy awards. M. Barral gets a first prize, as is his just due, as
does also Mademoiselle Carriere. "Usher, call Mademoiselle Sisos." She
comes forward, her great brown eyes dilated with excitement, her cheeks
burning like two red roses, a mass of faded white roses clinging amid the
rumpled gold of her hair--a very bewitching picture of childish grace and
beauty. "Mademoiselle Sisos, the jury have awarded to you a second prize."
She laughs and blushes, and brings her hands together with a childlike
gesture of delight. "Oh, merci!" she cries, and drops a courtesy, and then
away she goes--happy little creature, thus consecrated artiste at sixteen!
The other awards are given, the jury leave their box, and the audience
disperse. The friends of the competitors crowd around the stage-door, and
each of the successful ones is seized by the hand and congra