the dusty, dingy place and transformed
it into a theater as dainty and pretty as Madame de Rhona herself.
Dancing was Madame's strong point, but she had been very successful as
an actress too, first in Paris and Petersburg, and then in London at the
St. James's and Drury Lane. What made her go into management on her own
account I don't know. I suppose she was ambitious, and rich enough for
the enterprise.

At this time I was "in standing water," as Malvolio says of Viola when
she is dressed as a boy. I was neither child nor woman--a long-legged
girl of about thirteen, still in short skirts, and feeling that I ought
to have long ones. However, when I set out with father to see Madam de
Rhona, I was very smart. I borrowed Kate's new bonnet--pink silk trimmed
with black lace--and thought I looked nice in it. So did father, for he
said on the way to the theater that pink was my color. In fact, I am
sure it was the bonnet that made Madame de Rhona engage me on the spot!

She was the first Frenchwoman I had ever met, and I was tremendously
interested in her. Her neat and expressive ways made me feel very
"small," or rather _big_ and clumsy, even at the first interview. A
quick-tempered, bright, energetic little woman, she nearly frightened me
out of my wits at the first rehearsal by dancing round me on the stage
in a perfect frenzy of anger at what she was pleased to call my
stupidity. Then something I did suddenly pleased her, and she
overwhelmed me with compliments and praise. After a time these became
the order of the day, and she soon won my youthful affections. "Gross
flattery," as a friend of mine says, "is good enough for me!" Madame de
Rhona was, moreover, very kind-hearted and generous. To her generosity I
owed the first piece of jewelery I ever possessed--a pretty little
brooch, which, with characteristic carelessness, I promptly lost!
Besides being flattered by her praise and grateful for her kindness, I
was filled with great admiration for her. She was a wee thing--like a
toy, and her dancing was really exquisite. When I watched the way she
moved her hands and feet, despair entered my soul. It was all so
precise, so "express and admirable." Her limbs were so dainty and
graceful--mine so big and unmanageable! "How long and gaunt I am," I
used to say to myself, "and what a pattern of prim prettiness she is!" I
was so much ashamed of my large hands, during this time at the Royalty,
that I kept them tucked up under