them, smiled blandly, and as often as the curtain furled up was ready with more smiles and with more thanks. When Venik saw all this thanking, he was no longer disposed to call out to her, disdain again played around his mouth and half to the neighbour who sat beside him he audibly exclaimed, “a theatrical princess.”
His neighbour took these words for eulogy and to heighten their force, said, “yes, a perfect queen of the theatre!” and asseverated it to himself, which was also a kind of asseveration to Venik.
“Yes, a perfect queen of the theatre!” repeated Venik after him, as if he himself could heighten the force of his neighbour’s criticism by repeating it.
What then happened after this in the theatre Venik scarcely saw or heard. All that was stereotyped in his mind was that solo of the first violin from the orchestra, then how Krista sank in a fainting fit, how the curtain fell, how the curtain was raised, and how Krista had her fainting fit over in a twinkling, and was able to thank them all and to smile blandly.
When the theatre was over there was no watchword given to-night that they were to take out the horses from Krista’s carriage and drag her home.
But still Venik again posted himself by the exit from the theatre, and just where Krista had the other night stepped into her carriage: and there he waited.
