ll career again.

ALVA. She's lengthening each number.

ESCERNY. I once had the pleasure of meeting the artiste at Schoen's.

ALVA. My father has brought her before the public by some critiques in
his paper.

ESCERNY. (Bowing slightly.) I was conferring with Dr. Schoen about the
publication of my discoveries at Lake Tanganika.

ALVA. (Bowing slightly.) His remarks leave no doubt that he takes the
liveliest interest in your work.

ESCERNY. It's a very good thing in the artiste that the =public= does
not exist for her at all.

ALVA. As a child she learned the quick changing of clothes; but I was
surprised to discover such an expressive dancer in her.

ESCERNY. When she dances her solo she is intoxicated with her own
beauty, with which she herself seems to be mortally in love.

ALVA. Here she comes. (Gets up and opens the door. Enter Lulu.)

LULU. (Without wreath or basket, to Alva.) You're called for. I was
three times before the curtain. (To Escerny.) Dr. Schoen is not in your
box?

ESCERNY. Not in mine.

ALVA. (To Lulu.) Didn't you see him?

LULU. He is probably away again.

ESCERNY. He has the last parquet-box on the left.

LULU. It seems he is ashamed of me!

ALVA. There wasn't a good seat left for him.

LULU. (To Alva.) Ask him, though, if he likes me better now.

ALVA. I'll send him up.

ESCERNY. He applauded.

LULU. Did he really?

ALVA. Give yourself some rest. (Exit.)

LULU. I've got to change again now.

ESCERNY. But your maid isn't here?

LULU. I can do it quicker alone. Where did you say Dr. Schoen was
sitting?

ESCERNY. I saw him in the left parquet-box farthest back.

LULU. I've still five costumes before me now; dancing-girl, ballerina,
queen of the night, Ariel, and Lascaris.... (She goes behind the
Spanish screen.)

ESCERNY. Would you think it possible that at our first meeting I
expected nothing more than to make the acquaintance of a young lady of
the literary world?... (He sits at the left of the centre table, and
remains there to the end of the scene.) Have I perhaps erred in my
judgment of your nature, or did I rightly interpret the smile which the
thundering storms of applause called forth on your lips? That you are
secretly pained at the necessity of profaning your art before people of
doubtful disinterestedness? (Lulu makes no answer.) That you would
gladly exchange at any moment the shimmer of publicity for a quiet,
sunny happiness in distinguished seclusion?