SARAH BERNHARDT'S MOT 107
I observed that the notice had been changed to another play and artist She threw a triumphant glance at the announcement and at me, which plainly said, " See what a queen I am here !"
The foyer des artistes of that historic theatre is a beautiful room, hung with portraits of all its great men and women: Mars, Talma, Rachel, etc. While looking at these I asked Madame Bern-hardt why her " counterfeit presentment" was nowhere to be seen. " You would like to see my portrait there ?" she asked. " Oh yes, very much; you belong there!" was my answer. Et bien^ vous ne me faites pas des compliments! I cannot have my portrait there until I arn dead five years!" And she laughed merrily at my silent discomfiture. The play that night was again " Hernani." I can still see Mounet Sully as the gallant Spaniard, swaggering before th^ long mirror as he swung his ample cloak about him until its every fold was to his liking; and Got, the father of the theatre, in his sombre costume, playing at cards in the interval before he should thrill the great audience by his terrible entrance in the last act. I could not but recall the days when little Joe and I had felt so privileged at being allowed to sit before the curtain of the old