knew it and its author. He was a young student-at-law, who lived beyond the Seine, attended the balls at the Chaumière, and thought himself a poet. He wrote sonnets, madrigals, and, having finished a drama, went with it to the Théâtre Français. Such hardihood was unheard of; he was even rebuffed by the door-keeper. At the Odéon he fared no better. The young author sighed, threw his MS. in a drawer, and thought no more of conquering a place upon the boards of Paris. In due season he took his degree, lived modestly, and, in the autumn seasons, was wont to relieve his vacation with shooting expeditions near his native town of Besançon. He had not, however, entirely laid aside his pen, and delighted the provincials from time to time with a sentimental romance, in the columns of the Impartial, the chief journal of Besançon. One week he changed his programme, and, with apologies for the omission, sent to the provincial editor a little drama which he had written years before, and which he trusted was not wholly without merit.
This little drama was the rejected one of the Moineau de Leslie. Emboldened by seeing himself in print, Barthet carried with him a copy of the Impartial to Paris. When there he ventured to enclose it, with "the hope it might have perusal," to the veteran feuilletonist, Jules Janin. For weeks he heard nothing of it; but one day the Journal des Débats and Jules Janin made him famous. The critic congratulated him upon his success; he urged him personally to present it to the Director of the Théâtre Français. Barthet was doubtful. "We are your sponsors," said Janin. It was presented, received unanimously, and Rachel played Lesbie. Never had she been so enchanting or so fascinating—"suis je belle?" as she
