"It is rather I who shall be thanking you the day of the first
production," said Sardou much touched, as he wrapped round his neck
the large, white square he always wore. "I believe that to-day has not
been wasted."

The rehearsals began. Sardou had asked for and obtained from the
Conservatoire six months leave for his young protegee, but Esperance
would on no account consent to give up her classes. The only
concession she would make was to give up the afternoon classes twice a
week.

The press began to notice this infant prodigy, who wished to remain
quite unheralded until her debut. Francois Darbois, in spite of his
friendship with several journalists, could not make them adhere to
their promises of silence, and when he complained bitterly to the head
of a great daily, "But, my friend," the editor rejoined, "that
daughter of yours is particularly fascinating, and certainly when you
launched her into this whirlpool, you should have remembered that the
only exits are triumph or despair!"

The philosopher grew pale.

"I believe," went on his friend, "that this child will vanquish every
obstacle by the force of her will, will stifle all jealousies by the
grace of her purity, and she already belongs to the public, while the
fame of your name has simply served for a stepping-stone. You, in your
wisdom, have been able to impart true wisdom to your child. But before
the public has ever seen her she is famous, and Sardou affirms that
the day after her appearance she will be the idol of all Paris. I owe
it to the profession of journalism to write her up in my paper, and I