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She began to act. As she danced there was in her ears the faded echo of wooden tom-toms. They conversed, or more or less she interviewed him. And we men would work for them and serve them in loyal fealty. They came from every part, from the pit, the circle and the gallery, even from the stalls. And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry. At this moment, Davies, who had completed his preparations, extinguished the torch. Under her feet lay intricate mosaics, and each warm hall was festooned in tapestries. “Go to the far corner,” he said, “and sing the last verse of Les Petites.
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