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"Yes, the heat," she repeated, "he hated it—he always hated it. And once he told me that his heart was weak."

"Alors, que voulez-vous?" Heinrich said helplessly.

At this moment, to his extreme relief, the door was burst open, and Weiss, the musical director, rushed into the room with tears streaming down his fat cheeks.

"My poor Mademoiselle Lina, I am overwhelmed, I am desolated, I am distraught, my heart bleeds for you!"

"Don't make so much noise," Heinrich protested at the iop of his voice.

"But one is only human! One is not made of stone! This tragedy, this awful bereavement, moves me profoundly, yes, I repeat, profoundly! I mourn not only the loss of a friend, but also the loss of "

"Tais-toi, a la fin!" Heinrich commanded, running his fingers through his hair, and casting an anguished glance at the stony form of Lina.

But Weiss continued to cry.

Lina asked suddenly, in that strong disconcerting voice: "When can I dance again?"

Weiss stopped crying. Heinrich answered, af ter an embarrassed pause:

"But . . . if you wish already to discuss these matters . . . it is difficult to say . . . les convenances must be observed. . . ."

"But when? Next week? The week after?"

"Really, I haven't thought . . . all this is so shocking."

She said then, staring at him with her tired strained eyes: "It's because, if I don't dance, if I have nothing to do, this will send me mad. If I have to sit here, in this chair, thinking about it all the time, I can't endure it. If I have to dance, if I have to work hard, if I have to go down to the theater, I shall feel better. I must dance as soon as ever I can, and you must arrange that for me. I shall fulfil my contracts."

"But, my dear Lina "

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