"
When she had sung only to this point, people in the audience were
exchanging significant smiles. There was no doubt of it; Louise Moran's
voice had lost its beauty. The years and joys of life abroad had done
their work. We now knew why she had given up comic opera and had gone into
burlesque. The house was so taken by surprise that at the end of her second
stanza, where applause should have come, none came. There was no occasion
for her to draw upon her supply of "encore verses."
Unprepared for the chilling silence that followed her song, she bestowed
upon the audience a look of mingled astonishment, pain, and resentment. But
she recovered self-possession promptly and delivered the few spoken lines
preceding her exit gaily enough. Her face clouded as soon as she was off
the stage. She abused her maid in her dressing-room and sent the comedian's
"dresser" out for some troches. The state of her mind was not improved by
the sound of a hail-storm-like sound that came from the direction of the
stage shortly after,--the applause at the leading comedian's entrance.
As the newspapers said the next day, the only honours of that performance
were with the comedian.
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