The tumult stopped instantly, and every face was turned with expectation on the stage, ready to greet "the lost one" with a generous welcome.
She came in hurriedly, with her head erect, her hand clenching that cloud of lace to her bosom, and her eyes bright as stars. A stag hunted to desperation would have turned at bay with a look like that; and the poor animal might have recoiled as she did, when that wild burst of admiration stormed over her. For the outcry of the most vicious hounds that ever ran could not have been more appalling to a victim than that generous welcome was to her.
She did not bow or smile, but retreated slowly back, step by step, until a voice from behind the scene startled her. Then she bent her tall figure a little forward, her head drooped to her bosom, and her hands were clenched passionately under the laces.
Again those who were nearest heard the voice, but did not understand it as that poor girl did. In her panic the little acting that belonged to the scene was utterly overlooked; but this proud indifference was something new, and charmed the audience, which took her wounded pride for superb disdain of a pampered beauty, and accepted it as a graceful innovation; while she stood trembling from head to foot, conscious only of a burning desire to break away from it all and hide herself forever. She did once move swiftly toward the wing, but there stood Olympia, and the first glimpse of that frowning face drove her back, panting for breath.
The audience, seeing her panic, encouraged her with applause less stormy and more sustaining.
She felt this kindness. The multitude were less her enemy than the woman who stood in the shadows, hounding her on. Among all that sea of faces she saw one—that of a young girl, leaning over the crimson cushions of a box near the stage, so eager, so earnest, so bright with generous sympathy, that youth answered back to youth; a smile broke over her own face, and with it came her voice, fresh, pure, soaring like a bird suddenly let loose on the air.
The audience listened in breathless sympathy, which encouraged her. There was no doubt now; fear could not long hold such genius in thrall; her movements became free, her features brightened. She flung the lace back from her head, and gave herself up to the joyous riot of that drinking song.
In the midst of this scene, when every one present, on and off the stage, was lavishing homage upon her, she lifted her eyes to the young girl who leaned forward, poising herself in the box, like a bird preparing for flight, and clapped her little hand with the glee of a delighted child.
Once more their smiles met. Then a deathly faintness came over the debutante, and without a word or motion she sank upon the stage, like a statue of snow which the sun had touched.
In the next box, leaning forward like that young girl—but oh! with what a different expression—she had seen the Italian teacher, her lover.