In the evening Janina went to the theater for the performance. She dressed as usual and sat thoughtlessly gazing at the rows of candles pasted to the tables, at the scribbled walls and at the rows of actresses sitting before their mirrors. Sowinska continually hung about the dressing-room and observed her curiously. Her companions spoke to Janina, but she did not answer them. Every now and then, she fell into a state of torpor in which one beholds without seeing anything and lives without feeling, while deep within, at the very bottom of her consciousness, there was reflected the image of that dying woman and there swarmed and hissed those stinging and scornful whispers of her neighbors, mixed with the words of the Penitential Psalms. Suddenly, a tremor ran through Janina, for a voice reached her from the stage which sounded like Grzesikiewicz's; so she arose and went out. Wladek was standing on the stage, engaged in a lively conversation with Majkowska, whose naked shoulders he was kissing. Janina paused behind one of the scenes, for some feeling without a name passed through her heart, like the sharp, cold edge of a dagger, but was swiftly gone again, awakening in her a certain knowledge. "Mr. Niedzielski!" she called. The actor threw back his shoulders, while across his clean-shaven face there passed a shadow of impatience and boredom. He whispered yet a few words into the ear of Mela, who smiled and departed, and then, without trying to disguise his ill humor, he approached Janina. "Did you want anything?" he asked irascibly. "Yes . . ." In the despondency that filled her at that moment Janina wanted to tell him that she was unhappy and ill. She longed to hear a warm word of sympathy and felt an irresistible need of telling her troubles to someone and of weeping on some friendly breast, but on hearing the sharp tone of Wladek's voice, she suddenly remembered how much she had suffered through him and how base he was, so she suppressed those desires within herself. "Are we going to play to-day?" she asked. "We are. There are about a hundred rubles in the treasury." "Ask them for some money for me." "What do you think! Do you want me to make a fool of myself? Moreover, I'm going right home." Janina glanced at him and said in a quiet, expressionless voice: "Take me home, for I feel so very miserable." "I have no time, I must immediately run to my own home, for already they are all waiting for me there." "Oh, how base you are! How base you are!" she whispered. Wladek recoiled a few steps, not knowing whether he should smile, or pretend to be offended. "Are you saying that to me, to me?" he asked. He did not dare to swear, for that girl with her proud face and glance of a lady imposed respect upon him and thrust back into his throat, as it were, the brutalities that he wanted to hurl at her. "To you!" Janina answered. "You are base! You are the basest person in the world . . . do you hear! . . . the basest!"