ist; you will never be an actress;
you are one of the step-daughters of the muses. There are many such,
to whom have been given great capabilities; one only is
wanting--courage. You sing wonderfully well, you act with feeling,
with humor--_at home_, before three people; but so soon as the lights
of the proscenium are lit your voice grows weak, you sing false, you
see and hear nothing, and you act like a wooden doll. This is called
stage-fright, and it is _never cured_; it has ruined more brilliant
careers than the critics have. You shake your head and appeal to your
former triumphs. Don't deceive yourself; I know the machinery of the
stage well, and how artificial thunder and lightning are manufactured.
At every performance you gain a triumph; you receive thunders of
applause, mountains of flowers. The morning after your performance
your breakfast-table is covered with newspapers teeming with laudatory
criticisms. This is all gold-dust, and will only last as long as some
rich admirer pays the piper. But try the experiment of closing your
doors to your wealthy patrons, and step on the boards with no help
but your own talents; ask to be applauded for your own sake. Then you
will learn the price of the entertainment, and that the critic's
praise is only to be bought."

Eveline's head sank. She knew that every word he said was true. Arpad
viewed the matter not so much from the artistic side as from his
youthful, ardent nature. He was indignant against the fashions of the
world; he was indignant that Eveline should have lent herself to these
low intrigues, and so taken the place of better artists, better
musicians, better actresses; but in his heart he was sorry for her.
She had been kind to him; she had never offended him. Why was he so
cruel to her? It was due to the petulance of his boy's nature. Why had
_she_ disturbed him when he was happy at his painting? Why had she
asked him questions? What was it to her whether it were a flower, and,
if it were a flower, why should she want it? And when he put out his
hand, why should she tap it in that intimate manner? The picture was
not painted for her.

"What shall I do? What am I fit for?" asked Eveline, with a downcast
air. Her beautiful eyes were full of tears; she was crushed to the
earth.

The young man considered a few minutes what he should answer. As she
had asked to drink the chalice she should do so to the dregs.

"You have two courses open to you, for I would not