"Can you tell me, sir, with what paper that editor is connected?" Janina asked the stage-director, who was supervising the arrangement of the scenery for the next act.
"With no paper, probably. He's merely a theatrical critic."
"He told me himself that . . ."
"Ha, ha!" laughed the stage-director, "I see you're green!"
"But he is sitting in the chairs reserved for the press," persisted
Janina stating what she thought was a convincing argument.
"What of that? There are more of his kind there. Do you see that light blonde? He alone is a real writer and the rest are merely migratory birds. God alone knows what their occupation is . . . but since they hobnob with everybody, talk a lot, have money from somewhere, and occupy the foremost places everywhere, no one even bothers asking who they are."
"Ah, you look so fascinating, so fascinating" cried the editor at that instant rushing in upon the stage and already from a distance extending his hands to her. "A veritable portrait by Greuze! Only a little more courage and everything will go smoothly. I will insert an item to-morrow about your first appearance on the stage."
"Thank you," she answered coolly, without looking at him.
The editor turned about and made off for the actors' dressing-room.
"Good evening, gentlemen!" he called entering.