The grand march and chorus in the closing scene were easily accomplished; for, as Lucy bade her, Christie “sung with all her might,” and kept step as she led her band with the dignity of a Boadicea. No one spoke to her; few observed her; all were intent on their own affairs; and when the final shriek and bang died away without lifting the roof by its din, she could hardly believe that the dreaded first rehearsal was safely over. A visit to the wardrobe-room to see her dress came next; and here Christie had a slight skirmish with the mistress of that department relative to the length of her classical garments. As studies from the nude had not yet become one of the amusements of the elite of Little Babel, Christie was not required to appear in the severe simplicity of a costume consisting of a necklace, sandals, and a bit of gold fringe about the waist, but was allowed an extra inch or two on her tunic, and departed, much comforted by the assurance that her dress would not be “a shock to modesty,” as Lucy expressed it. “Now, look at yourself, and, for my sake, prove an honor to your country and a terror to the foe,” said Lucy, as she led her _protégée_ before the green-room mirror on the first night of “The Demon’s Daughter, or The Castle of the Sun!! The most Magnificent Spectacle ever produced upon the American Stage!!!” Christie looked, and saw a warlike figure with glittering helmet, shield and lance, streaming hair and savage cloak. She liked the picture, for there was much of the heroic spirit in the girl, and even this poor counterfeit pleased her eye and filled her fancy with martial memories of Joan of Arc, Zenobia, and Britomarte. “Go to!” cried Lucy, who affected theatrical modes of speech. “Don’t admire yourself any longer, but tie up your sandals and come on. Be sure you rush down the instant I cry, ‘Demon, I defy thee!’ Don’t break your neck, or pick your way like a cat in wet weather, but come with effect, for I want that scene to make a hit.” [Illustration: CHRISTIE AS QUEEN OF THE AMAZONS.] Princess Caremfil swept away, and the Amazonian queen climbed to her perch among the painted mountains, where her troop already sat like a flock of pigeons shining in the sun. The gilded breast-plate rose and fell with the quick beating of her heart, the spear shook with the trembling of her hand, her lips were dry, her head dizzy, and more than once, as she waited for her cue, she was sorely tempted to run away and take the consequences. But the thought of Lucy’s good-will and confidence kept her, and when the cry came she answered with a ringing shout, rushed down the ten-foot precipice, and charged upon the foe with an energy that inspired her followers, and quite satisfied the princess struggling in the demon’s grasp.