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 here—the minx. I called her Fifi, at first. She drew herself up like an offended empress and said, 'Mademoiselle Chiaramonti, if you please.' She then informed me, with an air of grand condescension that she might return here as leading lady, and told me, quite negligently, that she was the person who gave the ninety thousand francs to the soldiers' orphans' fund. You would have thought she was in the habit of giving ninety thousand francs to charity every morning before breakfast. She swore she did not intend to acknowledge it until she had got a place as leading lady at a theater that suited her; likewise that she proposed to be billed as Mademoiselle Chiaramonti, cousin to the Holy Father, and to have the story of her relationship to the Pope published in every newspaper in Paris, and demanded fifty francs the week. The advertising alone is worth a hundred francs the week; but you know, Cartouche, no woman on earth could stand a hundred francs the week and keep sane. Then, she tells me that she has a magnificent wardrobe—she wore that brooch in here, which I have never been able to satisfy myself is real or not—and took such a high tone altogether that I began to ask myself if I were the manager of this theater