Ah, Mr.Wallace is gone already, but he described to me how to find her.

This way!' And Madame de Chateauvieux, brushing the tears from her eyes with one hand, took Kendal's arm with the other, and hurried him along the narrow passages leading to the door on to the stage, M.de Chateauvieux following them, his keen French face glistening with a quiet but intense satisfaction.
As for Kendal, every sense in him was covetously striving to hold and fix the experiences of the last half-hour.

The white muffled figure standing in the turret door, the faint lamp light streaming on the bent head and upraised arm--those tones of self-forgetful passion, drawn straight, as it were, from the pure heart of love--the splendid energy of that last defiance of fate and circumstance--the low vibrations of her dying words--the power of the actress and the personality of the woman,--all these different impressions were holding wild war within him as he hastened on, with Marie clinging to his arm.

And beyond the little stage-door the air seemed to be even more heavily charged with excitement than that of the theatre.

For, as Kendal emerged with his sister, his attention was perforce attracted by the little crowd of persons already assembled round the figure of Isabel Bretherton, and, as his eye travelled over them, he realised with a fresh start the full compass of the change which had taken place.