In 1857, Sardou felt the pangs of actual want, and his misfortunes culminated in an attack of typhoid fever. He was living in poverty and was dying in his garret, surrounded with his rejected manuscripts. A lady who was living in the same house unexpectedly came to his assistance. Her name was Mlle de Brécourt. She had theatrical connections, and was a special favourite of Mlle Déjazet. She nursed him, cured him, and, when he was well again, introduced him to her friend. Déjazet had just established the theatre named after her. Every show after La Taverne was put on at this theatre. Then fortune began to smile on the author. Nine years after getting married to his first wife, she would pass away.
Emphasis mine. And for the record, that last sentence has a problem with pronoun/antecedent agreement. Did fortune herself die? Sloppy!
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