th her
friendship more even than with their patronage. Never did the capricious
audience of a Parisian pit dare to hiss Silvia, not even in her
performance of characters which the public disliked, and it was the
general opinion that she was in every way above her profession.

Silvia did not think that her good conduct was a merit, for she knew that
she was virtuous only because her self-love compelled her to be so, and
she never exhibited any pride or assumed any superiority towards her
theatrical sisters, although, satisfied to shine by their talent or their
beauty, they cared little about rendering themselves conspicuous by their
virtue. Silvia loved them all, and they all loved her; she always was the
first to praise, openly and with good faith, the talent of her rivals;
but she lost nothing by it, because, being their superior in talent and
enjoying a spotless reputation, her rivals could not rise above her.

Nature deprived that charming woman of ten year of life; she became
consumptive at the age of sixty, ten years after I had made her
acquaintance. The climate of Paris often proves fatal to our Italian
actresses. Two years before her death I saw her perform the character of
Marianne in the comedy of Marivaux, and in spite of her age and declining
health the illusion was complete. She died in my presence, holding her
daughter in her arms, and she was giving her the advice of a tender
mother five minutes before she breathed her last. She was honourably
buried in the church of St. Sauveur, without the slightest opposition
from the venerable priest, who, far from sharing the anti-christain
intolerancy of the clergy in general, said that her profession as an
actress had not hindered her from being a good Christian, and that the
earth was the common mother of all human beings, as Jesus Christ had been
the Saviour of all mankind.

You will forgive me, dear reader, if I have made you attend the funeral
of Silvia ten years before her death; believe me I have no intention of
performing a miracle; you may console yourself with the idea that I shall
spare you that unpleasant task when poor Silvia dies.

Her only daughter, the object of her adoration, was seated next to her at
the supper-table. She was then only nine years old, and being entirely
taken up by her mother I paid no attention to her; my interest in her was
to come.

After the supper, which was protracted to a late hour, I repaired to the
house of Madame Qui