Gretel’s hand shook so that she could scarcely hold the precious ticket, as she stepped out of the apartment-house, and crossed the street to fairy-land. Early as it was the lobby of the opera house was already crowded, and there was a long line of people waiting for tickets. Gretel pushed her way through the jostling throng, and presented her ticket.
“Balcony, three flights up,” said the man at the gate, hurriedly, and turned to the next comer. In another moment Gretel was climbing the long flight of stairs to the balcony.
She was quite breathless when she reached her destination, and the usher who took her check, and showed her to her seat, regarded the little girl rather curiously. But there was no time to waste in asking questions, so he contented himself with assuring Gretel good-naturedly that “there was lots of time; the opera didn’t begin till two.”
It was all just as she had remembered it, and pictured it to herself again and again. The great house; the crowds of people, and the orchestra tuning up their instruments. With a great sigh of unutterable relief, she sank back in her seat—for the first time in nearly twenty-four hours she felt safe.
“I’m here; I’m really in fairy-land,” she whispered rapturously, “and I’m going to hear ‘Lohengrin.’”
Then the leader of the orchestra appeared, and was greeted by a burst of applause, followed by a sudden stillness, and in another moment the overture had begun. For the next three hours Gretel was living in a wonderful, beautiful dream. It was even more beautiful than she had anticipated, and she drank in every note of the marvelous music as a person dying of thirst might drink water. During the intermissions she leaned back, with closed eyes, waiting in a kind of silent rapture for the curtain to rise again. As to what would happen when it was all over, and she would have to leave fairy-land and go back to Mrs. Marsh’s again, she never once thought of that.
But everything, even in fairy-land, must come to an end at last. It was after five, and “Lohengrin” had sung his farewell, and sailed away in his mysterious swan boat, while the swan himself, miraculously transformed into the heroine’s long-lost brother, embraced his heart-broken sister. And then, amid a perfect storm of applause, the curtain fell for the last time that afternoon; “Lohengrin” was over.
The performance had been an unusually fine one, and many of the audience had tears in their eyes as the curtain fell on that final scene, but to one little heart the last notes of the orchestra fell like the knell of doom. For several minutes Gretel remained in her seat, while the applause continued, and the singers came before the curtain again and again to bow their thanks. All about her people were putting on their wraps, but still she did not move. At last some one touched her on the arm.
“Please let me pass,” said a voice, and Gretel awoke from her dream to find the eyes of a plainly-dressed, elderly lady fixed upon her kindly. With a sudden start, she sprang to her feet.
“Is it really all over?” she inquired in the voice of a person suddenly awaking from a long sleep.