have, indeed!"

And then I rushed to don my borrowed robes for the next act, and stared
stupidly when Hattie said: "What lovely applause you got, Clara, and you
so frightened; you shook all over when you went on, we could see you."

But I was too excited over what was yet to be done really to comprehend
her words. When I saw myself in the glass I was delighted. The open robe
of pale blue satin, brocaded with silver, was lifted at the sides with
big bunches of blush and deep-pink roses over a white satin petticoat. I
wore a high Spanish comb, a white mantilla, a pink rose over the ear,
after the national fashion, and a great cluster of roses at my breast,
and for the first time I felt the subtle joy that emanates from beautiful
and becoming garments. The fine softness of the rich fabric was pleasant
to my touch--its silken rustle was music to my ear. Miss St. Clair had
lent me of her best, and as I saw it all reflected there, I thought how
easy it must be for the rich to be good and happy, never dreaming that
the wealthy, who to escape _ennui_ and absolute idleness sometimes did
wrong simply because there was nothing else to do, might think in turn,
ah! how easy it must be for the poor to be good and happy.

But the overture ended abruptly. I gathered up my precious draperies and
ran to the entrance to be ready for my cue. The first speeches were cold,
haughty, and satirical. The gypsy who was personating my dead lover had
deceived everyone else, even the half-blind old mother had accepted him
as her son, though declaring him greatly changed in temper and in manner.
But I, the sweetheart, was not convinced, and ignoring the advice of the
highest at the court, was fighting the adventurer with the courage of
despair.

As the scene went on, the stage hands (carpenters, gas-men,
scene-shifters, etc.) began to gather in the entrances, always a sign of
something unusual going on. I saw them--an ugly thought sprang up in my
mind. Ah, yes, they are there waiting to see the ballet-girl fail in a
leading part! An unworthy suspicion, I am sure, but it acted as a spur
would have done upon an already excited horse, and with the same result,
loss of self-control.

In the denunciation of the adventurer as a murderer and a personator of
his own victim my passion rose to a perfect fury. I swept the stage,
storming, raging, fearing nothing under heaven but the possible escape of
the wretch I hated! Vaguely I noted the manager reaching