far over a
balcony to see me--I didn't care even for the manager. The audience burst
into tremendous applause; I didn't care for that either, I only wanted
to see a rapier through the heart of the pale, sneering man before me. It
was momentary madness. People were startled--the star twice forgot her
lines. It was not correct, it was not artistic work. She, the part, was a
great lady, and even her passion should have been partially restrained;
but I, who played her, a ballet-girl, earning $5 a week, what could you
expect, pray, for the price? Certainly not polish or refinement. But the
genuine feeling, the absolute sincerity, and the crude power lavished
upon the scene delighted the audience and created a very real sensation.

The curtain fell. Miss St. Clair took me into her kind arms and, without
a word, kissed me heartily. The applause went on and on. She caught my
hand and said, "Come!" As she led me to the curtain, I suddenly realized
her intention, and a very agony of bashfulness seized upon me. I
struggled frantically. "Oh, don't!" I begged. "Oh, please, I'm nobody,
they won't like it, Miss St. Clair."

She motioned the men to pull back the curtain, and she dragged me out
before it with her. The applause redoubled. Shamed and stupid, I stood
there, my chin on my breast. Then I heard the laugh I so admired (Miss
St. Clair had a laugh that the word merry describes perfectly), her arm
went about my neck, while her fingers beneath my chin lifted my face till
I met her smiling glance and smiled back at her. Then the audience burst
into a great laugh, and bowing awkwardly to them and to her, I backed
off, out of sight, as quickly as I could; she, bowing like a young
prince, followed me. But again they called, and again the generous woman
took me with her.

And that was the first time I ever experienced the honor of going before
the curtain with a star. I supposed I had received the highest possible
reward for my night's work; I forgot there were such things as newspapers
in the town, but I was reminded of their existence the next day.

Never, never was I so astonished. Such notices as were given of the
performance, and what was particularly dwelt upon, think you? Why, the
tears. "Real tears--tears that left streaks on the girl's cheeks!" said
one paper. "Who is she--have you seen her--the wonderful Columbus
ballet-girl, who wins tears with tears, real ones, too?" asked another.

I was ashamed. I was afraid people w