d becomes her protector, warning the French roue and
duellist that he will call him to account for the insults which the arm
of the dead man had failed to avenge. He afterward does this, killing
the count--not in the action of the play; this is only told. John
Strebelow thus becomes the hero of the play, and it is only necessary to
follow the workings of Lilian's heart and his a little further, until
they come together at last, loving each other truly, the early love of
the wife for another man being only a sad memory in her mind. There is a
tender scene of explanation and a parting, until Lilian's heart shall
recall her husband. This scene, in my opinion, is one of the most
beautiful scenes ever written for the stage. At the risk of breaking the
tenth commandment myself, I do not hesitate to say, I wish I had
written it. As I did not, however, I can express the hope that the name
of Mr. A. R. Cazauran, who did write it, will never be forgotten in
connection with this play as long as the play itself may be remembered.
I wrote the scene myself first; but when he wrote it according to his
own ideas, it was so much more beautiful than my own that I would have
broken a law of dramatic art if I had not accepted it. I should not have
been giving the public the best play I could, under the circumstances.
Imbued, as my own mind was, with all the original motives of the piece,
it would have been impossible for me to have made changes within a few
weeks without the assistance Mr. Cazauran could give me; this assistance
was invaluable to me in all parts of the revised piece. In the fifth act
the husband and wife come together again, the little child acting as the
immediate cause of their reconciliation; the real cause lies in their
own true hearts.

Before we leave the subject, another change which I was obliged to make
will interest you, because it shows very curiously what queer turns
these laws of dramatic construction may take. As soon as it was decided
to have Lilian live, in the fifth act, and love John Strebelow, I was
compelled to cut out the quarrel-scene between Lilian and Harold
Routledge in the first act. This is a little practical matter, very much
like taking out a certain wheel at one end of a machine because you have
decided to get a different mechanical result at the other end. I was
very fond of this quarrel-scene, but I lost no time in trying to save
it, for I saw at once that Harold Routledge must not appear in