rris in "Alixe"._]

And he turned and strode out. Mr. B. had failed to mention the name of
the play when he recommended it; and the Western man, whose skin seemed
as sensitive as it was thick, thought that he was being made fun of,
when the play of "Divorce" unfolded before him.

When "Alixe" was produced, there was one feature of the play that
aroused great curiosity. Mr. Daly was called upon again and again to
decide wagers, and considerable money changed hands over the question,
before people could be convinced that it was I who was carried upon the
stage, and not a waxen image of me.

Many people will remember that in that heart-rending play, Alixe, the
innocent victim of others' wrong-doing, is carried on dead,--drowned,--and
lies for the entire act in full view of the audience. Now that was the
only play I ever saw before playing in it; and in Paris the Alixe had
been so evidently alive that the play was quite ruined.

When I had that difficult scene intrusted to me, I thought long and
hard, trying to find some way to conceal my breathing. I knew I could
"make-up" my face all right--but that evident breathing. I had always
noticed that the tighter a woman laced, the higher she breathed and the
greater was the movement of her chest and bust. That gave me a hint. I
took off my corset. Still when lying down there was movement that an
opera glass would betray.

Then I tried a little trick. Alixe wore white of a soft crepy material.
I had duplicate dresses made, only one was very loose in the waist. Then
I had a great big circular cloak of the same white material, quite
unlined; and when I was made up for the death scene, with lilies and
grasses in hand and hair, I stood upon a chair and held a corner of the
great soft cloak against my breast, while my maid carefully wound the
rest of it loosely about my body, round and round, right down to my
ankles, and fastened it there; result: a long, white-robed figure,
without one trace of waist line or bust, and beneath ample room for
natural breathing, without even the tremor of a fold to betray it.

At once the question rose, was it a wax figure or was it not? One
gentleman came to Mr. Daly and asked him for the artist's address,
saying the likeness to Miss Morris was so perfect it might be herself,
and he wanted to get a wax model of his wife. Nor would he be convinced
until Mr. Daly finally brought him back to the stage, and he saw me
unpin my close drapery, and trot