wink the night before, and in the morning I used to comb my hair
carefully and get ready, my heart beating fast with excitement, in order
to listen to something I did not understand at all, but which
nevertheless left me spell-bound. Then, too, there was quite a legend
attached to this pretty girl. She had flung herself almost under the
horses' feet as the Emperor was driving along, in order to attract his
attention and obtain the pardon of her brother, who had conspired
against his sovereign.

Mlle. Stella Colas had a sister at Madame Fressard's, and this sister,
Clothilde, is now the wife of M. Pierre Merlou, Under Secretary of State
in the Treasury Department. Stella was slight and fair, with blue eyes
that were rather hard but expressive. She had a deep voice, and when
this pale, fragile girl began to recite Athalie's Dream, it thrilled me
through and through. How many times, seated on my child's bed, did I
practise saying in a low voice, "_Tremble, fille digne de moi_"--I used
to twist my head on my shoulders, swell out my cheeks, and commence:

"_Tremble--trem-ble--trem-em-ble----_"

But it always ended badly, and I would begin again very quietly, in a
stifled voice, and then unconsciously speak louder; and my companions,
roused by the noise, were amused at my attempts, and roared with
laughter. I would then rush about to the right and left, giving them
kicks and blows, which they returned with interest.

Madame Fressard's adopted daughter, Mlle. Caroline (whom I chanced to
meet a long time after, married to the celebrated artist, Yvon), would
then appear on the scene. Angry and implacable, she would give us all
kinds of punishments for the following day. As for me, I used to get