When Princess Helene had died in her lover's arms, however (died as Maxine had not deserved to die), and I was able to pick up the tangled threads of my own life, where I'd laid them down, the questions were still crying out for answer, and must somehow be decided at once.
First, there was Raoul to be put off and got out of the way--Raoul, my best beloved, whose help and protection I needed so much, yet must forego, and hurt him instead.
The stage-door keeper had orders to let him "come behind," and so he was already waiting at the door of my little boudoir by the time Helene had died, the curtain had gone down, and Maxine de Renzie had been able to leave the stage.
As we went together into the room, he caught both my hands, crushing them tightly in his, and kissing them over and over again.

But his face was pale and sad, and a new fear sprang up in my heart, like a sudden live flame among red ashes.
"What is it, Raoul ?--why do you look like that ?" I asked; while inside my head another question sounded like a shriek.

"What if some word had come to him in the theatre--about the treaty ?" Then I could have cried as a child cries, with the snapping of the tension, when he answered: "It was only that terrible last scene, darling.

I've seen you die in other parts.

But it never affected me like this.