pleasant to have one's admiration compelled, one's attention so
determinedly sought after.

And Candeille could be extremely amusing, and as Madelon in Moliere's
"Les Precieuses" was quite inimitable.

This, however, was in the olden days, just before Paris went quite mad,
before the Reign of Terror had set in, and ci-devant Louis the King had
been executed.

Candeille had taken it into her frolicsome little head that she would like
to go to London. The idea was of course in the nature of an experiment.
Those dull English people over the water knew so little of what good
acting really meant. Tragedy? Well! passons! Their heavy, large-boned
actresses might manage one or two big scenes where a commanding
presence and a powerful voice would not come amiss, and where
prominent teeth would pass unnoticed in the agony of a dramatic climax.

But Comedy!

Ah! ca non, par example! Demoiselle Candeille had seen several English
gentlemen and ladies in those same olden days at the Tuileries, but she
really could not imagine any of them enacting the piquant scenes of
Moliere or Beaumarchais.

Demoiselle Candeille thought of every English-born individual as having
very large teeth. Now large teeth do not lend themselves to well-spoken
comedy scenes, to smiles, or to double entendre.

Her own teeth were exceptionally small and white, and very sharp, like