“Carmen” began at the point where Carmen makes her first entry.

As Rosa came to the centre of the stage from the wings she staggered. One would have thought she was drunk. At her cue, instead of commencing to sing, she threw up her hands, and with an appealing glance at me sank down to the floor. I rushed to her, and immediately the entire personnel of the theatre was in a state of the liveliest excitement. I thought of a similar scene in London not many months before. But the poor girl was perfectly conscious, and even self-possessed.

“Water!” she murmured. “I shall die of thirst if you don’t give me some water to drink at once.”

There appeared to be no water within the theatre, but at last some one appeared