"After sneezing . . . he has a bad catarrh," called someone from the side.
"The public was fascinated and swept off its feet in the third act . . . they arose in their chairs."
"That's because they wanted to run away from such a treat," came the mocking voice again.
"How many bouquets did you receive, Madame Directress?"
"Ask the director, he paid the bill."
"Ah, Mr. Counselor, you are unbearable to-day!" cried the directress in a sweet voice, although almost pale with rage, for all the actors were growing red in the face in their effort to keep from laughing.
"It's intended as a kindness. . . . All the rest of them are saying pretty things, let me say something sensible."
"You are an impertinent man, Mr. Counselor! . . . How can you say such things? . . ."
"Moreover, what do I care about the theater! If I played well, I owe it to my husband; if I played badly it's the fault of the director for forcing me to appear continually in new roles! If I had my way, I would lock myself up with my children and confine myself to domestic affairs. . . . My God! art is such a big thing and we are all, compared with it, so small, so small that I tremble with fear before each new performance!" she declaimed.
"Please let me have a word with you in private," called Majkowska.