"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. "How are things going in the hall? Were you at the box office? . . ." "Nearly all the seats are sold out." "How is the play taking?" "Well, very well! . . . I see, Mr. Director that you have replenished the chorus: that charming, new blonde attracts all eyes . . . ." "Good, good. . . . Hurry there, give me my belly!" "Mr. Director, please let me have an order for two rubles. I must immediately send for my boots," begged some actor, hastily pulling on his costume. "After the performance!" answered Cabinski, holding the pillow to his stomach, "tie it fast, Andy!" They wrapt him about with long strips like a mummy. "Mr. Director, I need my boots on the stage. . . . I cannot play without them!" "Go to the devil, my dear sir, and don't disturb me now. . . . Ring!" he called to the stage-director. Cabinski, whenever he played, created a big confusion in the dressing-room. He always suffered from stage fright, so he would try to overcome it by shouting, scolding, and quarreling over every trifle. The costumer, the tailor, the property man all had to hustle about him and continually remind him lest he forget something. Despite the fact that he always commenced dressing early, he was always late. Only on the stage did he recover his equanimity. Now it was the same; his cane had been mislaid and he rushed about, wildly shouting: "My cane! Who took my cane! . . . My cane! Damn it! I must go right on!" "You snort like an elephant in the dressing-room, but on the stage you buzz as quietly as a fly," slowly remarked Stanislawski, who hated all noises. "If you don't like to hear it, go out into the hall."