After many and prolonged calls, Isabelle came modestly forth.
“Thank you,” she said. “I think Mr. Charles Dickens is dead; if he is, I will thank you for him.”
“Company! Company!” shouted the parents and relatives. Isabelle felt this to be bad discipline for the actors, but after a moment’s hesitation, she led them all forth.
Martin Christiansen was the first to reach her side. With a low bow he indicated the sunflower which she carried.
“My flower!” he murmured tenderly. “Isabelle, I’ve seen them all, Bernhardt, Duse, Fiske, but I’ve never seen any acting that could be compared with yours!”
It was that supreme moment which made up to Isabelle for everything else. She knew then the joy of appreciation—knew that Martin Christiansen was a finer soul, and akin unto her own!