It was not without difficulty that the players managed at last to begin the piece.

It was _Irene,_ which was given for the sixth time.

Never had this tragedy been better played, never less listened to, never more applauded.

The illustrious old man rose to thank the public, and, the moment afterwards, there appeared on a pedestal in the middle of the stage a bust of this great man, and the actresses, garlands and crowns in hand, covered it with laurels; M.de Voltaire seemed to be sinking beneath the burden of age and of the homage with which he had just been overwhelmed.

He appeared deeply affected, his eyes still sparkled amidst the pallor of his face, but it seemed as if he breathed no longer save with the consciousness of his glory.