But when she could get rid of the stupid servants and give vent to her feelings to the pit and the house, she overflowed to each individual as if he were her particular confidant, and she was crying out her griefs on his shoulder: the little fiddler in the orchestra (whom she did not seem to watch, though he followed her ceaselessly) twitched, twisted, nodded, pointed about, and when she came to the favourite passage, "I have a William too, if he be still alive--Ah, yes, if he be still alive.

His little sisters, too! Why, Fancy, dost thou rack me so?
Why dost thou image my poor children fainting in sickness, and crying to--to--their mum--um--other," when she came to this passage little Bows buried his face in his blue cotton handkerchief, after crying out "Bravo." All the house was affected.

Foker, for his part, taking out a large yellow bandanna, wept piteously.

As for Pen, he was gone too far for that.

He followed the woman about and about--when she was off the stage, it and the house were blank; the lights and the red officers, reeled wildly before his sight.