He regretted to have
to inform the audience that Madame Papadopoulos would not be able
to conclude her most interesting performance that evening as she
had unfortunately received injuries of a very grave nature. Then he
signalled to the orchestra, who crashed into a loud and vulgar march
with clanging brass and thundering drum. It sounded so cynically and
hideously inhuman that I trampled recklessly over people in my mad rush
to the exit.
I found the stage-door, where a knot of the performers were assembled,
talking of the horrible accident. I pushed my way shiveringly through
them, and tried to rush into the building, but was checked by a burly
porter. I explained incoherently in my rusty German. I came for news of
Madame Papadopoulos. I was her _Verlobter_ I declared, with a gush of
inspiration. Whether he believed that I was her affianced I know not,
but he bade me wait, and disappeared with my card. I became at once
the object of the curiosity of the loungers. I heard them whispering
together as they pointed me out and pitying me.
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