it," that is: a comic sketch, a one-act operetta, a scene from a
drama and a solo dance. Almost the entire company took part in the
performance.

Janina sat behind the scenes and watched the stage, waiting for her
turn. She felt greatly overwrought by the happenings of that entire
day. She closed her eyes and became rapt in a quiet meditation of
the words of Grzesikiewicz, who had again recurred to her memory,
but suddenly, she started with a shudder, for behind his face she
saw emerging the satyr-like face of Kotlicki with its mocking smile;
then, there passed before her mind a vision of Glogowski with his
large head and kindly look. She rubbed her eyes as though to drive
those visions away from her, but that smile of Kotlicki would not
leave her memory.

"What a disgusting poodle that Rosinska is!" whispered Majkowska,
standing before Janina.

Janina roused herself and looked up at Majkowska with a certain
dissatisfaction. What interest did all that have for her at the
present moment? And she already began to feel vexed and impatient at
that eternal battle of all with everybody. She wasn't a bit
concerned about Rosinska, whose acting was, in reality, impossible,
and nauseatingly sentimental.

"Cabinski would do well to keep her off the stage," continued
Majkowska without heeding Janina's silence, but she broke off
quickly, for there approached them just then Sophie, Rosinska's
daughter, who was to dance a solo pas with a shawl.

She stood beside Majkowska, all dressed for the dance. In that
costume she looked like a girl of twelve; her figure was
undeveloped, her face was thin and mobile, while her gray eyes and
cynically contorted, carmined lips wore the expression of an
experienced courtesan. She watched the acting of her mother, hissing
between her teeth with dissatisfaction. Finally, she bent over
toward Majkowska and whispered so that Janina could not hear her:
"Just look how that old woman is playing!"

"Who? Your mother?"

"Yes. Just look at the eyes she is making at that fellow in the high
hat! Hopping about like an old turkey hen, too! Gee whiz, how she
has dolled herself up! She's bent on making herself look young and
doesn't even know how to make up her face decently. I am ashamed of
her. She thinks that all are such fools that they will not notice
her artificial beauty. Ha! ha! She can't fool me, for one. When she
dresses, she locks herself up so as not to let me see how she pads
and pieces he