difference to her in what form adulation
came, so long as she monopolized it.

That moment Caroline was lying upon her bed up-stairs, shaking in every
limb, and crying in bitterness of spirit.

CHAPTER VIII.

BEHIND THE SCENES.

Olympia had selected an auspicious time for the first appearance of her
protege, as she always persisted in calling Caroline.

It was the fashion just then to recognize American genius with something
like enthusiasm, and the very suddenness with which this young girl had
been brought forward operated in her favor.

A glowing account of her voice and beauty had reached the public just at
a time when no special excitement occupied it, and this served to draw a
crowd around the opera house long before the hour of opening.

On the outskirts of this crowd, the carriage which contained Olympia and
her victim--for such the heroine of the evening really was--made its way
toward the stage door. Olympia leaned out of the window, and cried
exultingly:

"Look, child, look! Hundreds of people waiting already!"

Caroline cast one frightened glance at the crowd, and shrank back with a
faint moan.

Just as the audience began to pour in through the opened doors the
carriage drove up to the stage entrance, and Olympia took a leap from
the steps and held the carriage door open with her own hand, while
Caroline descended more slowly. The light from a neighboring lamp fell
upon her face, and revealed the tears that stood upon her cheeks, and a
half rebellious look in the eyes, which Olympia saw, and met with angry
bitterness.

"Crying again? Shooting spiteful looks at me, as if I were a monster,
instead of a tender, considerate, self-sacrificing mother, ready to
share everything with you, even my glory! Was ever such ingratitude?"

Caroline did not answer, but walked into the narrow door, and stood upon
the dreary stage, panting for breath, like some superb animal from the
wild woods, hunted down, and without hopes of escape.

"This way--come this way," said Olympia, taking hold of her arm.
"Perhaps you will remember that we are late. The audience was crowding
in like a torrent when we passed the door. Come!"

Caroline allowed herself to be led along the stage, through yawning
vistas of scenery ready placed for use, and along dark passages, until
she came to Olympia's dressing-room, in which a blaze of light was
reflected by half-a-dozen mirrors, and fell like sunshine on a pile of
gorgeous