e_."

Ivo winced. "Okay, but you're the on'y one I'd do 'at for."

Slowly, he began to shimmer. Paul held his breath. Maybe Ivo had
forgotten how to transmute himself. But technique triumphed over method.
Ivo Darcy gradually coalesced into the semblance of Paul Lambrequin. The
show would go on!

* * * * *

"Well, how was everything?" Paul asked anxiously when Ivo came into his
room shortly after midnight.

"Pretty good," Ivo said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "Gregory
was extremely surprised to see me--asked me half a dozen times how I was
feeling." Ivo was not only articulating, Paul was gratified to notice;
he was enunciating.

"But the show--how did that go? Did anyone suspect you were a ringer?"

"No," Ivo said slowly. "No, I don't think so. I got twelve curtain
calls," he added, staring straight ahead of him with a dreamy smile.
"Twelve."

"Friday nights, the audience is always enthusiastic." Then Paul
swallowed hard and said, "Besides, I'm sure you were great in the role."

But Ivo didn't seem to hear him. Ivo was still wrapped in his golden
daze. "Just before the curtain went up, I didn't think I was going to be
able to do it. I began to feel all quivery inside, the way I do before
I--I change."

"Butterflies in the stomach is the professional term." Paul nodded
wisely. "A really good actor gets them before every performance. No
matter how many times I play a role, there's that minute when the house
lights start to dim when I'm in an absolute panic--"

"--And then the curtain went up and I was all right. I was fine. I was
Paul Lambrequin. I was Eric Everard. I was--everything."

"Ivo," Paul said, clapping him on the shoulder, "you're a born trouper."

"Yes," Ivo murmured, "I'm beginning to think so myself."

For the next four weeks, Paul Lambrequin lurked in his room while Ivo
Darcy played Paul Lambrequin playing Eric Everard.

"It's terrific of you to take all this time away from your duties, old
chap," Paul said to Ivo one day between the matinee and the evening
performances. "I really do appreciate it. Although I suppose you've
managed to squeeze some of them in. I never see you on non-matinee
afternoons."

"Duties?" Ivo repeated vacantly. "Yes, of course--my duties."

"Let me give you some professional advice, though. Be more careful when
you take off your makeup. There's still some grease paint in the roots
of your hair."

"Sloppy of me," Ivo agre