rage, mon ami! Un peu de sang froid—un peu d'aplomb, M. Lucien, et tout ira bien."
St. Pièrre sneered again, in her cold, snaky manner.
I was irritable, because excited, and I could not help turning upon her and saying, that if she were not a lady and I a gentleman, I should feel disposed to call her out.
"After the play, after the play," said M. Paul. "I will then divide my pair of pistols between you, and we will settle the dispute according to form: it will only be the old quarrel of France and England."
But now the moment approached for the performance to commence. M. Paul setting us before him, harangued us briefly, like a general addressing soldiers about to charge. I don't know what he said, except that he recommended each to penetrate herself well with a sense of her personal insignificance. God knows, I thought this advice superfluous for some of us. A bell tinkled. I and two more were ushered on to the stage. The bell tinkled again. I had to speak the very first words.
"Do not look at the crowd, nor think of it,"
