o seats in the parquet. Gradually, their eyes grew
accustomed to the darkness, and they could distinguish the vast
windowless cave, with its rows of seats, its galleries and painted
ceiling. The air, smelling of dust and decay, lay heavily on Frederick's
lungs. There were recesses in the great grotto that made the impression
of gloomy holes for coffins. Some of them were hung with grey canvas, and
canvas lay spread over the whole parquet, with the exception of a few
rows left free for seats for the visitors. The stage curtain was up, and
the only lighting on the stage came from a few incandescent lamps with
weak reflectors, which cast only a narrow circle of light, which widened
somewhat as the visitors' eyes learned to be content with the faint
illumination.

None of the men had ever before seen an empty unlighted theatre, and they
felt cramped and oppressed. For no special reason, they lowered their
voices in speaking, and sat there in the expectant mood in which people
always await the beginning of a performance.

No wonder that Frederick's heart throbbed more and more turbulently. Even
Willy Snyders, who was not easily shaken out of his composure and was
always inclined to make sarcastic remarks, was silent and adjusted his
glasses on his nose. He sat with his mouth open and his nostrils
dilating. When Frederick's eye happened to fall upon him in his unwonted
state of self-forgetfulness, he was amused by the comic appearance of his
black Japanese head.

After a number of tense minutes had passed and nothing had yet occurred,
the artists were about to unburden their feelings in questions and
remarks, when the silence was suddenly broken by a tramping of feet, and
the stage resounded with a loud, though dull and by no means melodious
voice. It was the impresario Lilienfeld, in a long overcoat, his hat
pushed back on his neck. He was scolding violently and flourishing a
cane. The vision tickled the artists' risibilities. It was all they could
do to keep their laughter within the limits of courtesy.

Lilienfeld roared and called for the porter, and thundered unmercifully
at a charwoman happening to stray on the empty stage.

"Where's the carpet, where are the musicians, where is that
good-for-nothing of a fellow who attends to the reflector? I expressly
ordered him to be here at twelve o'clock. Miss Hahlstroem is standing back
there and can't get into her dressing-room."

A voice from the parquet--it came from the