To-morrow night! Every vestige of color fled from that poor girl's face. She attempted to rise, supported herself with one hand on the table a moment, then in the midst of that riotous toast, sank back to her chair, with her face turned imploringly on Hepworth Closs.
When the revellers had drained their glasses and turned to look for a reward in the face they had pronounced divine, it had disappeared. Amid the confusion, Hepworth had led Caroline from the room.
"It is too much for her," said Olympia, tossing half a dozen peaches on the table in her search for the mellowest. "She is such a noble, grateful creature, and has not yet learned how to receive homage."
"While our Olympia almost disdains it. Fill up for our goddess, The Olympia!"
"Wait a minute!"
It was the young noble next the actress who spoke. He had taken some grape-leaves from a crystal vase near him, and was weaving the smallest amber-hued and purple clusters with them in a garland, with which he crowned the goddess before her libation was poured out. She accepted the homage, laughing almost boisterously, and when the grape-wreath was settled in her golden hair, stood up, a Bacchante that Rubens would have worshipped; for it made no 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.