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Updated: May 13, 2025
He could scarcely pull himself down to the level where he would have to congratulate Carrie as a friend. Nevertheless, the man mastered himself, and it was a triumph. He almost jerked the old subtle light to his eyes. "I thought," he said, looking at Carrie, "I would come around and tell you how well you did, Mrs. Drouet. It was delightful." Carrie took the cue, and replied: "Oh, thank you."
"Madenda," she replied, instantly mindful of the name Drouet had selected in Chicago. "Carrie Madenda." "Well, now, Miss Madenda," he said, very affably, as Carrie thought, "you go over there." Then he called to a young woman who was already of the company: "Miss Clark, you pair with Miss Madenda." This young lady stepped forward, so that Carrie saw where to go, and the rehearsal began.
"Better go back and say a word to her." Drouet was glad to do anything for relief. He fairly hustled around to the side entrance, and was let in by the friendly door-keeper. Carrie was standing in the wings, weakly waiting her next cue, all the snap and nerve gone out of her. "Say, Cad," he said, looking at her, "you mustn't be nervous. Wake up. Those guys out there don't amount to anything.
Carrie, left alone since the scene in question, and having no one with whom to counsel, had at first wandered from one strange mental conclusion to another, until at last, tired out, she gave it up. She owed something to Drouet, she thought. It did not seem more than yesterday that he had aided her when she was worried and distressed. She had the kindliest feelings for him in every way.
Hurstwood looked up quizzically, the least suggestion of a smile hovering about his lips. He studied the face of Drouet in his wise way, and then with the demeanor of a gentlemen, said: " Certainly; glad to." " We'll have a nice game of euchre." " May I bring a nice little bottle of Sec?" asked Hurstwood. " Certainly," said Drouet. " I'll introduce you."
Her husband is in the hospital, injured, and wants to see her." The servant girl hurried upstairs, convinced by the man's strained and emphatic manner. "What!" said Carrie, lighting the gas and searching for her clothes. "Mr. Drouet is hurt and in the hospital. He wants to see you. The cab's downstairs."
She remembered a few things Drouet had done, and now that it came to walking away from him without a word, she felt as if she were doing wrong. Now, she was comfortably situated, and to one who is more or less afraid of the world, this is an urgent matter, and one which puts up strange, uncanny arguments. "You do not know what will come. There are miserable things outside. People go a-begging.
She made one more vain effort and then burst into tears. "Now, be reasonable, Cad," said Drouet gently. "What do you want to rush out for this way? You haven't any place to go. Why not stay here now and be quiet? I'll not bother you. I don't want to stay here any longer." Carrie had gone sobbing from the door to the window. She was so overcome she could not speak. "Be reasonable now," he said.
" An old acquaintance of mine that I ran into just as was coming up from the station," explained Drouet. " She used to be quite a beauty." " Still attracts a little, eh?" returned the other, affecting to jest. " Oh, no," said Drouet, " just couldn't escape her this time." " How long are you here?" asked Hurstwood. " Only a few days."
Drouet looked away from the stage at the audience. The latter held out silently, hoping for a general change, of course. Hurstwood fixed his eye on Carrie, as if to hypnotise her into doing better. He was pouring determination of his own in her direction. He felt sorry for her. In a few more minutes it fell to her to read the letter sent in by the strange villain.
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