rks of art which lay upon her tables, in her cabinets, the costly
vases, seemed silently to reproach her; the cups set with precious
stones recalled Arpad's words. Better to be a glass of fifteen sous
than a goblet of silver!

At last sleep fell upon her tired eyelids, and in the morning she
awoke refreshed and full of fresh energy.

This day the opera in which she had sung the day before yesterday was
to be repeated. The rehearsal was to take place in the morning. At
this rehearsal, then, she would show what she could do; she would look
at no one; she would sing like a blind nightingale.

She ordered her carriage. When she reached the theatre she told the
servants to return for her in two hours.

As she entered the vestibule the stage-manager came to meet her, and
told her that her part had been given to another singer.

Eveline flew into a passion. Why had it been taken away from her, and
in such a manner, without asking her permission? Such a want of proper
deference towards her!

The man regretted the circumstance, but either could not or would not
offer any explanation. Would she like to see the manager?

Eveline, in a very excited frame of mind, went to look for him; but he
was not in his office. His secretary, however, handed her a letter,
which the manager had desired him to send to her address.

Eveline took the letter, and when she was in the hall she broke the
seal and read it. It was a dismissal, immediate, discourteous, on the
grounds that she was quite unequal to fill the position of prima
donna.

How she got out of the theatre and into the street she did not know;
she came to herself when she saw the crowd of passers-by staring at
her. She felt that it was no wonder they looked at her. She was
walking like one who was dead; her body moved forward, but her mind
was lifeless. It was strange to feel one's self thus annihilated.

Then it was true; the cruel boy was right. The clouds were golden only
so long as the sun shone. All her splendor had been on the outside.
There was nothing tangible; nothing came from herself. The whole thing
had been a _fata morgana_; it had now vanished forever.

Eveline wandered, she didn't know where. Suddenly she found herself
opposite her own house. She would not have thought it strange if some
one had told her at the door of the hotel that no one of her name
lived there, that she had been dead and buried years ago. She thought
she was too stunned to feel either a