s girls had dressed and were going out into the
garden.

Janina saw actors in their negligee only, parading up and down
before their dressing-rooms; women, in white petticoats with naked
shoulders and with half of their stage make-up removed, were
strolling about the stage and peeping through the curtain at the
public. On noticing some stranger, they would retreat uttering
little shrieks, smiling coquettishly, and darting significant
glances.

Waiters from the restaurant, maids, and stage hands went flying
about like hunting hounds.

"Sowinska!"

"Tailor!"

"Costumer!"

"A pair of pants and a cape!"

"A cane for the stage and a letter!"

"Wicek! run to the director and tell him that it is time for him to
dress for the last act!"

"Set the stage!"

"Wicek! send me some rouge, beer, and sandwiches! . . ." called one
actress across the stage.

In the dressing-rooms reigned chaos, forced and hurried changing of
dress, feverish make-up with cosmetics that were almost melting from
the heat, and quarrels . . . .

"If you pass before me again on the stage, sir, I'll kick your
shins, as I live!"

"Go kick your dog! My part calls for that . . . here, read it!"

"You intentionally hide me from view!"

"What did I tell you!" said another. "I merely popped out and
immediately there arose a murmur of applause."

"It was only the wind and that fellow thinks it was applause,"
answered another voice.

"There was a murmur of disgust, because you bungled your part."

"How the deuce can one keep from bungling when Dobek prompts like a
consumptive nag?"

"Speak yourself, and I will then stop . . . we'll see what a fool
you'll make of yourself! . . . I put word after word into his ear as
with a shovel and . . . nothing doing! . . . I shout out so loudly
that Halt kicks at the stage for silence . . . but that fellow still
stands there like a dummy!" retorted Dobek.

"I always know my part; you trip me up intentionally."

"Tailor! a belt, a sword and a hat . . . hurry!"

"Mary! if you tell me to go, there will go with me night and
suffering, loneliness and tears . . . Mary! do you not hear me?
I . . . It is the voice of the heart that loves you . . . the
voice . . ." repeated Wladek, pacing up and down the dressing-room
with his role and gesticulating wildly, deaf to all that was going
on about him.

"Hey there, Wladek . . . put on the soft pedal. . . . You'll have
enough opportunity to roar and groan on the