All in the company knew of this love affair behind the scenes: Julia always left the theatre in the company of Kostovsky, they stayed at the same hotel, and his room adjoined hers. Kostovsky was always with her, enjoying to the full the pleasure that the contemplation of her beauty afforded him, while she willingly allowed him to pay court to her. He followed her like a faithful dog, and waited long and patiently at the door of the women’s dressing-room while she leisurely removed the make-up from her face, dressed, and chatted with the other girls.
This time, after the conclusion of the performance, he had to wait particularly long at the foot of the stairs; one after another the closely wrapped little figures came down the stairs and went off with the men who were awaiting them, just as the scene-painter was awaiting Julia. But “she” was not to be seen.
Sad and troubled, Kostovsky stood at his place, looking about him indifferently and continually throwing expectant glances at the door of the dressing-room. And the door opened less and less often, as almost all the women had already departed.
At last Rosa, a vivacious Jewish chorus girl, came out. “What are you standing here for?” she drawled, lifting her brows in surprise and making a sly grimace. “I am the very last one, there is no one else, and Julia left long ago. It seems you did not notice when she went out.”
“What, is she gone?” asked Kostovsky, and on his face appeared a pained expression.
“Ha-ha-ha!” Rosa’s silvery laugh rang out; “very simple, she left before the end of the performance in the company of her new admirer, and you, my sweet one, have tired her long ago!”
The scene-painter stepped back and caught himself by the head. “It is not true!” he said in a dull voice.
“Well, I like that!” Rosa said excitedly, “and it is your own doing, too! She only wished to be pushed ahead. You always light her up so that the whole front row is after her! She has made a career for herself, and does not need you any longer.” And Rosa ran laughingly down the stairs.
Kostovsky stood long motionless on the same place, and, enveloped in the quiet and darkness of the empty theatre, he felt that, little by little, then stronger and stronger, his breast was filled with acute pain.
When Kostovsky knocked at the door of Julia’s room she received him very coldly. Her moist eyes looked indifferently and tranquilly from under her thick, black eyelashes; her black hair, carelessly pinned, lay like a luxurious crown, and two thick curls fell over her full cheeks. She wore a wide kimono of some cheap sheer material, and light slippers.