"What
if they know all I've done?" The question flashed across my brain. "What
if a voice in the auditorium should suddenly shout that Maxine de Renzie
had betrayed France for money, English money?" How these hands which
applauded would tingle to seize me by the throat and choke my life out.
Still, with these thoughts murmuring in my head like a kind of dreadful
undertone, I went on. An actress can always go on--till she breaks. I
think that she can't be bent, as other women can: and I envy the women
who haven't had to learn the lesson of hardening themselves. It seems to
me that they must suffer less.
At last came the end of the first act. But there were five curtain
calls. Five times I had to go back and smile, and bow, and look
delighted with the ovation I was having. Then, when the time came that I
could escape, I met on the way to my dressing-room men carrying big
harps and crowns, baskets and bunches of flowers which had been sent up
to me on the stage. I pushed past, hardly glancing at them, for I knew
that Raoul would be waiting.
There he was, radiant with his unselfish pride in me--my big, handsome
lover, looking more like the Apollo Belvedere come alive and dressed in
modern clothes than like an ordinary diplomatic young man from the
Foreign Office.
Pages:
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137