halfway across she stopped short and
burst into tears.

"On the right there is a sofa . . . it will be more comfortable for
you to faint on, Madame Directress!" called someone from the chairs.

The company smiled with set faces.

"Pepa! . . . my wife! . . . calm yourself. . . . For God's sake
can't we ever do any thing without these continual rumpuses!"

"Am I the cause of it?"

"I'm not blaming you . . . but you could at least calm yourself . . .
there's no reason for you acting this way!"

"So that is the kind of husband and father you are! . . . that is
the kind of director!" she shouted in fury.

"Hold out only one hour, and you'll go straight to heaven, you
martyr!" someone called to Cabinski.

"Sir," queried a spectator, holding up one of the actors by the
button of his coat. "Sir, are they playing something new?"

"First of all, that is a button from my coat which you have pulled
off!" cried the actor, "and that, my dear sir, is the first act of a
moving farce entitled Behind the Scenes; it is given each day with
great success."

The stage became deserted. The orchestra was tuning its instruments;
"Halt" went for a drink of beer, and the company scattered about the
garden. Cabinski, holding his head with both hands, paced up and
down the stage like a madman, complaining half in anger, half in
commiseration, for his wife was still quietly continuing her spasms.

"Oh what people! What people! What scandals!"

Janina, startled by the brutality of the spectacle she had just
witnessed, retreated behind the farthermost scene. She felt that it
was now impossible to speak with the director.

"So these are artists! . . . this is the theater!" she was thinking.

The rehearsal, after a short intermission, began anew with
Kaczkowska as the titular heroine.

Majkowska was in a splendid humor, being so successfully rid of her
rival.

The director, after his wife's departure, rubbed his hands in glee
and motioned to Topolski. They went out to the buffet for a drink.
Without a doubt he must have made something on his break with
Nicolette.

Stanislawski, the oldest member of the company, walked up and down
the dressing-room, spitting with disgust and muttering to Mirowska,
who was sitting on a chair with her feet curled up under her.

"Scandals . . . nothing but scandals! . . . how can we expect to
have any success! . . ."

Mirowska nodded her assent, smiling faintly and keeping steadily on
with the croc