Laura’s few friends wrote to her or came and talked with her, and pleaded with her to retire while it was yet time, and not attempt to face the gathering storm.  But it was fruitless.  She was stung to the quick by the comments of the newspapers; her spirit was roused, her ambition was towering, now.  She was more determined than ever.  She would show these people what a hunted and persecuted woman could do.

The eventful night came.  Laura arrived before the great lecture hall in a close carriage within five minutes of the time set for the lecture to begin.  When she stepped out of the vehicle her heart beat fast and her eyes flashed with exultation:  the whole street was packed with people, and she could hardly force her way to the hall!  She reached the ante-room, threw off her wraps and placed herself before the dressing-glass.  She turned herself this way and that—­everything was satisfactory, her attire was perfect.  She smoothed her hair, rearranged a jewel here and there, and all the while her heart sang within her, and her face was radiant.  She had not been so happy for ages and ages, it seemed to her.  Oh, no, she had never been so overwhelmingly grateful and happy in her whole life before.  The lecture agent appeared at the door.  She waved him away and said: 

“Do not disturb me.  I want no introduction.  And do not fear for me; the moment the hands point to eight I will step upon the platform.”

He disappeared.  She held her watch before her.  She was so impatient that the second-hand seemed whole tedious minutes dragging its way around the circle.  At last the supreme moment came, and with head erect and the bearing of an empress she swept through the door and stood upon the stage.  Her eyes fell upon only a vast, brilliant emptiness—­there were not forty people in the house!  There were only a handful of coarse men and ten or twelve still coarser women, lolling upon the benches and scattered about singly and in couples.

Her pulses stood still, her limbs quaked, the gladness went out of her face.  There was a moment of silence, and then a brutal laugh and an explosion of cat-calls and hisses saluted her from the audience.  The clamor grew stronger and louder, and insulting speeches were shouted at her.  A half-intoxicated man rose up and threw something, which missed her but bespattered a chair at her side, and this evoked an outburst of laughter and boisterous admiration.  She was bewildered, her strength was forsaking her.  She reeled away from the platform, reached the ante-room, and dropped helpless upon a sofa.  The lecture agent ran in, with a hurried question upon his lips; but she put forth her hands, and with the tears raining from her eyes, said: 

“Oh, do not speak!  Take me away-please take me away, out of this. dreadful place!  Oh, this is like all my life—­failure, disappointment, misery—­always misery, always failure.  What have I done, to be so pursued!  Take me away, I beg of you, I implore you!”