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for instance, that I could never dance Elssler's Gipsy. And I'm not talking nonsense, for I've seen Elssler dance."

"Oh, Elssler!" said Heinrich, shrugging his shoulders and spreading out his hands. "Elssler was a sensualist— brutal, provocative. There's no comparison between you two."

"Perhaps," she sighed, with a sudden sense of acute depression, "Elssler had more pleasure in her life than I shall ever have."

"Now, Lina, je vous en supplie! You're enjoying an enormous success and you must make the most of it!"

"Oh, I am," Lina assured him, "but, you know, all the same, one grows tired of being a Naiad all the time, and sometimes, I assure you, the röle of the Ondine becomes unbearably oppressive!"

"Only wait," said Heinrich, "until you return to Paris. You'11 be happy there—supper-parties, champagne, eligible young men, all fighting for your favors."

"But that's just where you're wrong," Lina told him, "I hate the people who come to the rue d'Antin, I hate the supper-parties, and I find the eligible young men intolerable. I'm happy now, touring with my own ballet, happier than I've ever been.- And yet you make me feel that I'm missing something that other dancers, Elssler and Grisi, to say nothing of the Russians, loved and prized, and took as a matter of course. But I don't know what it is, and I feel that I never shall. I only know that I'm happy with my work, and yet, sometimes, when I think that I shall be the Ondine for the rest of my life, I envy Elssler."

"My dear Lina, I perceive that you're after all like any other woman. You are pining to fall in love."

"But you're wrong," she said crossly, "for I've tried that, and it's no good. It only interferes with my work."

"Lina," Heinrich told her impressively, "you have