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in the intervals of flying and springing they had to dance, and they had to dance to the best of their ability. Lina's apparent fragility of body provoked unfavorable comment from her comrades, but she was the only one of the twelve who was married, and thus was able to command a certain respect.

The first precocious flush of her Milanese triumphs seemed to be over and done with. Now that she was one of a number of girls no one took the slightest notice of her. No one, now, with the exception of Angellini, told her that she was a prodigy. She had expected a certain amount of attention, a certain deference, perhaps also a little flattery—she did not get it. And, work as she might, it seemed impossible in any way for a member of the corps de ballet to attract notice.

"Why," she asked Rosing, "would you not let them make me a coryphée?"

"Because," said he, smiling at her satirically, "you would then have been observed too early. As it is, no one notices you."

"No one," Lina agreed sadly.

"How old he is, your husband?" remarked a girl named Sara. "Is it true that he was once a famous Russian dancer?"

"You leave my husband alone. He was, and is, more famous than you will ever be!"

She made no intimate friends among her comrades. She had never been accustomed to the society of her own sex. They were a rough, good-natured, self-centered lot. They knew by name Paris, London, Vienna, Turin, because "one dances there." Of Asia and Africa they were completely ignorant. "One doesn't dance there—they have no ballet." They hypocritically pretended to think Lina mad to have married her master, "paree que dans la danse il n'y a que les demoiselles." They quite frankly