at Moscow, treachery at Waterloo, the storrn-tossed sea, the ungrateful land—all these soon age a little bit of a woman like me. But God protects the brave, and He seems to have create! expressly for me a little corner, unnamed on any map, where I can forget my troubles, my fatigues, my premature old age! And yet you hurl your unkind gossip into the midst of the birds who sit on the branches of my trees and sing songs of welcome.
If I had died in America, you would have been the first (with a generosity worthy of your head and heart) to consecrate a eulogistic feuilleton to me. And because I recovered in a miraculous manner, because I can hope to see you again and squeeze your hand as an old friend, you say to yourself, "Thanks be to goodness she is still alive! Now we will set to work to tease her." And there you are, delighted to excite my nerves—which I confess are over-susceptible—for the sake of amusing the public at the expense of poor little Rachel. A fine triumph for your intelligence! as if there were no other victims.
Is this the way you ought to behave to a poor creature who returns from the other world? Come, be just and good, and acknowledge that your statement was quite unjustifiable, so that I may pardon you at once.
By Jupiter! I consider I am very good-natured to treat you in this manner, for this letter is certainly not written by a grande tragédienne, but by a bon enfant qui s'appelle
The last short period that Rachel was destined to pass on earth free from bodily pain were these summer months. A stranger visiting Paris gives us a glimpse of her, still brilliant and fascinating. Although no longer able to appear on the stage, she was a regular attendant at the Théâtre Français, when in Paris. The narrator tells that, one evening, loitering in the foyer of the theatre, he heard a servant ask the ouvreuse if she had found a shawl which Mademoiselle Rachel had left in her loge the night before. On inquiry, he learned that Rachel was stopping in Paris for a few days, on her way to Ems, whither she was ordered by her doctor, to drink the waters. Anxious to see her, he called next day at her hotel, Rue Trudon, and was admitted:—
