The Magic Curtain Part 5

Jeanne shrugged. "One does not know," she murmured.

Seizing the antiquated wood-hamper that stood by the hearth, Florence piled shavings and kindling high. Then, after scratching a match, she watched the yellow flames spread as shadows began dancing on the wall.

"You have been surrendering to gloom," she said reprovingly. "Don't do it. It's bad for you. Where there is light there is hope. And see how our fire gleams!"

"You speak truth, my friend." Jeanne's tone was solemn.

"But tell me." Her mood changed. "You have met adventure. So have I." Her eyes shone.

"Yes." Florence was all business at once. "But take a look at the clock.

There is just time to rush out for a cup of tea, then--"

"Then I go to jail," replied Jeanne solemnly. "Tell me. What does one wear in jail?"

"You are joking," Florence replied. "This is a serious affair. But, since you will go, it will not help to be late. We must hurry."

A moment later, arm in arm, they pa.s.sed from the outer door and the dull damp of night swallowed them up.

When, a short time later, Pet.i.te Jeanne, garbed as Pierre Andrews, stole apprehensively through the entrance to the great opera house, her ever-fearful eyes fell upon two men loitering just within.

The change that came over one of these, a tall, dark young man with a steely eye, as he caught sight of Jeanne was most astonis.h.i.+ng. Turning square about like some affair of metal set on wheels, he appeared about to leap upon her. Only a grip on his arm, that of his more stocky companion, appeared to save the girl.

"Watch out!" the other counseled savagely. "Think where you are!"

On the instant the look in those steely eyes changed. The man became a smiling wolf.

"Hey there, boy!" he called to Jeanne.

But Jeanne, in her immaculate suit of black, gave but one frightened backward look, and then sped for the elevator.

Her heart was doing double time as she saw the elevator door silently close.

"Who could that man be?" she questioned herself breathlessly. "He can't have been a detective. They do not stand on ceremony. He would be here by my side, with a hand on my arm. But if not a detective, what then?" She could form no answer.

In the meantime, the dark, slim man was saying to the stocky one:

"Can you beat it? You can't! Thought he'd cut for good! My luck. But no!

Here he is, going back."

"What do you care?" the other grumbled. "They'll take him, and that's the end of it. Come on outside." His eyes strayed to the corner. A deep-chested man whose coat bulged in a strange way was loitering there.

"Air's bad in here."

They pa.s.sed out into the night. And there we leave them. But not for long. Men such as these are found in curious places and at unheard-of hours.

But Jeanne? With her heart stilled for a brief period of time, she rose to the floor above, only to be thrown into a state of mind bordering on hysteria at thought of facing the ordeal that must lie just before her.

Seeking a dark corner, she closed her eyes. Allowing her head to drop forward, she stood like one in prayer. Did she pray, or did she but surrender her soul and body to the forces of nature all about her? Who can say but that these two are the same, or at least that their effect is the same? However that may be, it was a changed Jeanne who, three minutes later, took up her post of duty in the boxes, for hers was the air of a sentry. Her movements were firm and steady, the look upon her face as calm as the reflection of the moon upon a still pool at midnight.

That which followed was silent drama. Throughout it all, not a word was spoken, no, not so much as whispered. The effect was like a thing of magic. Jeanne will never erase those pictures from her memory.

Scarcely had she taken her place at the door leading to the box than the great magnate, J. Rufus Robinson, and his daughter, she of the lost pearls, appeared. Jeanne caught her breath as she beheld the cape of green velvet trimmed with white fur and the matchless French gown of cream colored silk she wore. There was no lack of jewels despite the lost pearls. A diamond flashed here, a ruby burned there, yet they did not outs.h.i.+ne the smile of this child of the rich.

"I am seeing life," Jeanne whispered to herself. "I must see more of it.

I must! I just must!"

Yet, even as she whispered these words she thought of the bearded man with those luminous eyes. She had asked him if all this was life--this wealth, this pomp and circ.u.mstance. And he had replied quite calmly: "It is a form of life."

At that instant Jeanne thought of impending events that hung over her like a sword suspended by a hair, and shuddered.

a.s.sisting the millionaire's daughter to remove her wrap, she carried it to the cloak-room at the back, then a.s.sisted the pair to arrange their chairs. This done, she stepped back, a respectful distance.

While this was being done, a man, gliding forward with silent unconcern, had taken a place in the shadows at the back of the box. Deeper in the shadows stood a woman in black. Jeanne did not see the woman. She did see the man, and shuddered again. He, she realized, was the detective.

As she turned her back, the detective moved, prepared without doubt to advance upon her. But a curious thing happened. The woman in the shadows darted forward. Touching the arm of the rich young lady, she pointed at Jeanne and nodded her head. The girl in turn looked at the detective and shook her head. Then both the detective and the woman in black lost themselves in the shadows at the back of the box.

All this was lost to Jeanne. Her back had been turned. Her mind had been filled by a magic panorama, a picture of that which was to pa.s.s across the opera stage that night. Thus does devotion to a great art cause us to forget the deepest, darkest trouble in our lives.

All during that long evening Pet.i.te Jeanne found herself profoundly puzzled. Why was nothing said to her regarding the pearls? Why was she not arrested?

"They have been found," she told herself at last. Yet she doubted her own words, as well she might.

Two incidents of the evening impressed her. As she left the box during an intermission the rich girl turned a bright smile full upon her as she said:

"What is your name?"

Caught off her guard, the little French girl barely escaped betraying her secret. The first sound of "Jeanne" was upon her lips when of a sudden, without so much as a stammer or blush, she answered:

"Pierre Andrews, if you please."

"What a romantic name." The girl smiled again, then pa.s.sed on.

"Now why did she do that?" Jeanne's head was in a whirl.

Scarcely had she regained her composure when a voice behind her asked: "Are you fond of the opera?"

"Oh, yes! Yes, indeed I am." She turned about.

"Then you may see much of it this season." The mysterious woman in black was already turned about. She was walking away. Jeanne did not see her face, yet there was that about her voice, a depth, a melodious resonance, a something, that thrilled her to the very tips of her slender toes.

"Will wonders never end?" she asked herself, and found no answer.

CHAPTER VII DREAMS OF OTHER DAYS

Pet.i.te Jeanne left the opera house that night in a brown study. She was perplexed beyond words. The necklace had not been found. She had made sure of that when, between the second and third act, she had discovered on a bulletin board of the lobby a typewritten notice of the loss and an offer of a reward for the return of the pearls.