“Rippin’!” “Bizarre--I say--how bizarre!” “Of the most chic!” “_Wunderschön!_” “Bully!” Raising her arms again for silence, she said quite simply: “Good! I will now, ladies and gentlemen, sing you the latest Patagonian Squaw Squall. I sing you first, however, few bars of ‘Che farò’ old-fashion, to show you my natural tones--so you will see.” And in a deep, sweet voice began at once: “Che farò senz’ Euridice”; while through the whole house ran a shuffle of preparation for the future. Then all was suddenly still; for from her lips, remarkably enlarged, was issuing a superb cacophony. Like the screeching of parrots, and miauling of tiger-cats fighting in a forest, it forced attention from even the least musical. Before the first verse was ended, the uncontrollable applause had drowned her; and she stood, not bowing, smiling with her lips now--her pretty lips. Then raising a slender forefinger, she began the second verse. Even more strangely harsh and dissonant, from lips more monstrously disfigured, the great sound came. And, as though in tune with that crescendo, the lime-light brightened till she seemed all wrapped in flame. Before the storm of acclamation could burst from the enraptured house, a voice coming from the gallery was heard suddenly to cry: “Woman! Blasphemous creature! You have profaned Beauty!” For a single second there was utter silence, then a huge, angry “Hush!” was hurled up at the speaker; and all eyes turned toward the stage. There stood the beautiful creature, motionless, staring up into the lime-light. And the voice from the gallery was heard again. “The blind applaud you; it is natural. But you--unnatural! Go!” The beautiful creature threw up her head, as though struck below the jaw, and with hands flung out, rushed from the stage. Then, amidst the babel of a thousand cries--“Chuck the brute out!” “Throw him over!” “Where’s the manager?” “Encore, encore!”--the manager himself came out from the wings. He stood gazing up into the stream of lime-light, and there was instant silence. “Hullo! up there! Have you got him?” A voice, far and small, travelled back in answer: “It’s no one up here, sir!” “What? Limes! It was in front of you!” A second faint, small voice came quavering down: “There’s been no one hollerin’ near me, sir.” “Cut off your light!” Down came the quavering voice: “I ’ave cut off, sir.” “What?” “I ’ave cut off--I’m disconnected.” “Look at it!” And, pointing toward the brilliant ray still showering down onto the stage, whence a faint smoke seemed rising, the manager stepped back into the wings. Then, throughout the house, arose a hustling and a scuffling, as of a thousand furtively consulting; and through it, of it, continually louder, the whisper--“Fire!” And from every row some one stole out; the women in the large hats clustered, and trooped toward the doors. In five minutes “The Paradise” was empty, save of its officials. But of fire there was none.