Roxane. Fortune favours the brave. Never was there a stronger proof of this axiom. Three salvos of applause greeted this unpremeditated act.
To her mother she wrote:—
This is the sixth day of my stay at Marseilles, and I have not seen a street, except the one leading from the hôtel to the theatre, from the theatre to the hôtel. I will confess to you, however, that, although I arrived alone in this town, I have not been dull for a moment. Certainly nothing could have been more flattering than my reception. Mademoiselle Rose [her faithfully-attached servant, who nursed and tended her on her death-bed] begs to be remembered to all of you. She finds the coffee in the south very bad, and is in despair. I do not complain, as everything is so cheap. On my return to Paris I will make you laugh by an account of the difficulty I had in finding a place to put up at. All the hôtels, inns, cabarets, wished to take possession of me. Each puffed his own place. One cried when I ventured to leave him; the other tore his hair; a third threatened to commit suicide, "because," as he said, "my hôtel is the best, the largest, and I and my house will be dishonoured if the greatest artist of France and Navarre does not stop with me." After much discussion, to clinch the matter he at last said, "I will not ask you to pay anything." I was touched by this unexpected and sublime effort of despair, and I finished by doing a good action and accepting the offer of the one who was most unhappy and most anxious. Miserable man! Little did he recognise his position. The first day I nearly ate him out of house and home, and my companions wanted for nothing. In the middle of the night I was seized with indigestion. Providence punished me for my greed. I made up my mind next morning. I sent for the mistress of the hôtel, and said to her, with one of my tragic looks, "Madame, after what has happened to-night, I can no longer remain without payment in your hôtel. I was tempted to eat too much. You must, therefore, accept some money. You will be permitted to take as little as possible."
We came to terms. My lodging, salon, bedroom, dining-room, room for keeping my clothes, two servants' rooms, ten francs; very well. Dinner at home, four francs; perfect! Breakfast, one franc; delightful! Servants' keep for two, six francs. I have nothing to say. And that day I only ate exactly what they gave me. I could not wait until my return to tell you this story, which I consider historical; but, remember, if I have laid on my colours too thickly, it is to make you, papa, and the dear little ones laugh. Ah! I am tired of holding my pen; it will fall from my hands. Not wishing to make an ugly blot, I embrace you a thousand times.
