veritable portrait by Greuze! Only a
little more courage and everything will go smoothly. I will insert
an item to-morrow about your first appearance on the stage."

"Thank you," she answered coolly, without looking at him.

The editor turned about and made off for the actors' dressing-room.

"Good evening, gentlemen!" he called entering.

"How are things going in the hall? Were you at the box office? . . ."

"Nearly all the seats are sold out."

"How is the play taking?"

"Well, very well! . . . I see, Mr. Director that you have
replenished the chorus: that charming, new blonde attracts all
eyes . . . ."

"Good, good. . . . Hurry there, give me my belly!"

"Mr. Director, please let me have an order for two rubles. I must
immediately send for my boots," begged some actor, hastily pulling
on his costume.

"After the performance!" answered Cabinski, holding the pillow to
his stomach, "tie it fast, Andy!"

They wrapt him about with long strips like a mummy.

"Mr. Director, I need my boots on the stage. . . . I cannot play
without them!"

"Go to the devil, my dear sir, and don't disturb me now. . . .
Ring!" he called to the stage-director.

Cabinski, whenever he played, created a big confusion in the
dressing-room. He always suffered from stage fright, so he would try
to overcome it by shouting, scolding, and quarreling over every
trifle. The costumer, the tailor, the property man all had to hustle
about him and continually remind him lest he forget something.
Despite the fact that he always commenced dressing early, he was
always late. Only on the stage did he recover his equanimity.

Now it was the same; his cane had been mislaid and he rushed about,
wildly shouting: "My cane! Who took my cane! . . . My cane! Damn it!
I must go right on!"

"You snort like an elephant in the dressing-room, but on the stage
you buzz as quietly as a fly," slowly remarked Stanislawski, who
hated all noises.

"If you don't like to hear it, go out into the hall."

"I'll stay right here, and I want quiet. No one can dress in peace
with you around."

"Podesta, to the stage!" called the stage-director.

Cabinski ran out, grabbed a cane out of somebody's hand, tied a
black handkerchief about his neck and rushed on the stage.

Stanislawski departed behind the scenes, all the others dispersed,
and the dressing-room became deserted, only the tailor remaining to
gather up the costumes scattered over the floor and tables and