knocking at the stage doors of Paris and never get inside; I shall go
on writing to the Paris managers and never get an answer. Without help
I shall go on eating my heart out in the provinces till I am old and
tired and done for!"

Her earnestness touched me. I had heard the same tale so often that I
was sick of hearing it, but this woman's earnestness touched me. If I
had had a small part vacant, I would have tried her in it.

"Again," I said, "as a dramatist I fully understand the difficulties of
an actress's career; but you, as an actress, do not understand a
dramatist's. There is no piece of mine going into rehearsal now,
therefore I have no opening for you, myself; and it is impossible for
me to write to a manager or a brother author, advising him to
entrust a part, even the humblest, to a lady of whose capabilities I
know nothing."

"I am not applying for a humble part," she answered quietly.

"Hein?"

"My line is lead."

I stared at her pale face, speechless; the audacity of the reply took
my breath away.

"You are mad," I said, rising.

"I sound so to you, monsieur?"