His eyes glistened.
I continued to dance, disappearing in the darkness at the rear of the stage, then returning toward the gas jet. Finally I lifted a part of my robe over my shoulders, made a kind of cloud which enveloped me completely and then fell, a wavering mass of fluffy silk, at the manager’s feet. After that I arose and waited in keenest anxiety to hear what he would say.
He said nothing. Visions of success were crowding upon each other in his brain.
Finally he broke his silence and gave my dance the name of “The Serpentine Dance.”
“There is the name that will go with it,” he said, “and I have just the music that you need for that dance. Come to my private office. I am going to play it for you.”
Then for the first time I heard an air which later became very popular, “Au Loin du Bal.”
A new company was rehearsing “Uncle Celestin” at the theatre. This company was to go on the road for several weeks before playing in New York. My new manager offered me, for this tour, an engagement at fifty dollars a week. I accepted, making it a condition that I should be featured on the placards, in order to regain in a measure the prestige I had lost.
A few days after I joined the company and made my first appearance at a distance from New York. For six weeks I appeared before country audiences, feverishly counting the hours until I should at last have my chance in the big city.
During this tour, contrary to the conditions I had imposed, I was not featured. The posters did not even announce me, and yet my dance, which was given during an interval and without coloured lights, was successful from the first.
A month and a half later in Brooklyn its success was phenomenal. The week following I made my debut in New York, at what was one of the prettiest theatres in town.