The handsome old gentleman, with his gray hair and slightly foreign face, laughed genially as he laid his burden down on the small reading table and wheeled it to her side.
"Ah, my dear, only read these!" he exclaimed, enthusiastically. "Your first appearance was a perfect success. All New York is at your feet."
A slight, sad smile came over the beautiful face with its subtle touch of melancholy.
"So they praise me," she said, carelessly. "Tell me what they say, professor."
"Parblieu! I could not begin to tell you," said the old gentleman. "You must read the papers."
She glanced at the formidable heap with an expression of dismay.
"I really have not the time," she said. "I have to study my part for to-night. I will just look at one, however. I suppose one will be a fair epitome of all the rest."
"Yes, about that," he replied. "They are all unanimous in praising you. They declare that Madam Dolores is the queen of the lyric stage."
"They are very kind," replied Madam Dolores, carelessly, with the languid air of one who is accustomed to praise, and almost indifferent to it.