the
anxiety with which they awaited her rival's delineation. Unlike the
cold, unmoved, and almost patient bearing which Margot displayed at
first, as though, having schooled her mind to a lesson, she would
practise it, had not aversion or contempt overmastered her, and in the
very sickness of her soul revealed her sorrow, the other burst forth
into a wild and passionate declamation,--an outburst of vulgar rage. A
low murmur of discontent ran through the house, and, swelling louder
and louder, drowned the words of the piece. The actress faltered and
stopped; and, as if by some resistless impulse, turned towards the
box where Margot sat, still and motionless. The entire audience turned
likewise, and every eye was now bent on her whose genius had become so
interwoven with the scene that it was as though associated with her very
identity. Slowly rising from her seat, Margot stood erect, gazing on
that dense mass with the proud look of one who defied them. The same
stern, cold stare of insult she had once bestowed on the stage she now
directed on the spectators. It was a moment of terrible interest, as
thus she stood, confronting, almost daring, those who had presumed to
condemn her; and then, in the same words Roxalane uses, she addressed
them, every accent tremulous with passion, and every syllable
vibrating with the indignant hate that worked within her. The measured
distinctness of every word rang out clear and full. It was less
invective than scornful, and scorn that seemed to sicken her as she
spoke it.

The effect upon the audience will best evidence the power of the moment.
On all sides were seen groups gathered around one who had swooned away.
Many were carried out insensible, and fearful cries of hysteric passion
betrayed the secret sympathies her words had smitten. She paused, and,
with that haughty gesture with which she takes eternal farewell of her
lover, she seemed to say, "Adieu forever!" and then pushing back her
dark ringlets, and tearing away the diamond coronet from her brows,
she burst into a fit of laughter. Oh! how terribly its very
cadence sounded,--sharp, ringing, and wild! the cry of an escaped
intellect,--the shriek of an intelligence that had fled forever!

Margot was mad. The violent conflict of passion to which her mind
was exposed had made shipwreck of a glorious intellect, and the very
exercise of emotion had exhausted the wells of feeling. I cannot go on.
Already have these memories sapped