the nerves her strength seemed shattered at a single blow, she uttered a shriek which cleft every heart in. twain and sank on the ground all at once, crushed and broken—sunk in a last and deadly faint.
If it was the mimic art, it was past all conception perfect; if it was the mimic art it seemed as though her every gesture had been fashioned by the Creator of the world himself.
So she remained lying and Venik still played on, and the public was carried away by the perfect acting of Krista, and was wrought almost beside itself by the perfect playing of Venik.
Thus they played together once again. The curtain remained for a moment still lifted, and when Venik concluded, it fell. And here arose such a clamour in the theatre, such a tempest of excitement, as was never before seen or heard in any theatre.
The public was by a single touch driven beside itself.
The curtain rose but Krista lay there still, she did not thank them, she did not smile upon them.
The curtain fell, but the public stormed on. And, hereupon, those in the orchestra told Venik that the applause belonged to him, and that he ought to turn toward the public and express his thanks. Venik turned thanked them and smiled, thanked them and smiled also in the name of Krista.
