"And there's Adelaide Shiffney coming in again. She is going to stay to the end. If only this act goes well!"
She shut her eyes for a minute and found herself praying. The coffee, the little supper had revived her. She felt renewed. All fatigue had left her. She was alert, intent, excited, far more self-possessed than she had been at any other period of the night. And she felt strongly responsive. The power of Gillier's libretto culminated in the last act, which was short, fierce, concentrated, and highly dramatic. In it Enid Mardon had a big acting chance. She and Gillier had become great allies, on account of her admiration of his libretto. Gillier, who had been with her many times during the night, now slipped into the front row of the stalls to watch his divinity.
"There's Gillier!" whispered Charmian. "He's mad about Miss Mardon."
"She's a great artist."
"I know. But, oh, how I hate her!"
"Why?"
But Charmian would not tell him. And now they gave themselves to the last act.
It went splendidly, without a hitch. After the misery of the third act this successful conclusion was the more surprising. It swept away all Charmian's doubts. She frankly exulted. It even seemed to her that never at any time had she felt any doubts about the fate of the opera. From the first its triumph had been a foregone conclusion. From the abysses she floated up to the peaks and far above them.
"Oh, Alston, it's too wonderful!" she exclaimed. "If only there were someone to applaud!"
"There'll be a crowd in a few days."