t the truth, the unadulterated truth, my word of
honor!"

"Please ma'am it is already noon," interrupted the nurse, who had
returned.

"You are bound for the theater, Madame Directress?"

"Yes, I'll drop in to see the rehearsal, and then take a walk about
town."

"Then we will go together, agreed? . . ." asked the counselor. "On
the way we shall settle a little piece of business."

Cabinska glanced at him uneasily. He was again blinking his eyes,
crossing his feet, and adjusting his glasses which had a habit of
continually slipping off.

"No doubt he wants that money, . . ." thought Cabinska, as they were
going down the stairs.

The counselor, in the meanwhile, was smiling and chirping away in
honeyed tones.

This strange individual would show up at the garden-theater at the
very first performance and vanish after the last, until the
following spring. He freely loaned money which was never returned to
him. He would give suppers, bring gifts of candy to the actresses,
take the young novices under his wing and was always reputed to be
in love with some actress platonically. Immediately upon his first
appearance, Cabinski had borrowed one hundred rubles from him and
before all those present he had intentionally forced him to accept
as security his wife's bracelet with the object of convincing them
that he had no money.

They entered the theater and quietly took their seats, for the
rehearsal was already in full swing and Kaczkowska with Topolski
were just in the midst of a capital love scene.

The counselor listened, bowed on all sides with a smile and
whispered to the directress: "Love is a splendid thing . . . on the
stage!"

"Even in life it is not bad," she remarked.

"True love is very rare in life, so I prefer it on the stage, for
here I can enjoy it every day," he spoke hurriedly, and his eyelids
began to blink again.

"You have been disillusioned, Counselor?"

"Oh no, by no means! . . . How are you, Piesh!"

"Well, sated with food, and bored," replied a tall actor with a
handsome, thoughtful face, extending his hand.

"Will you smoke some Egyptian cigarettes?"

"I will, if you will let me have some," he answered coolly.

"Mrs. Piesh is as well and as jealous as ever, eh? . . ." inquired
the counselor, handing him a cigarette.

"Just as you are always in a good humor . . . Both are diseases."

"So you consider humor a disease, eh?" asked the counselor.

"I hold that a normal man ought t