THEY THAT PASS IN THE NIGHT
The opera presented that night was Wagner's _Die Valkyre_. To Petite
Jeanne, the blithesome child of sunshine and song, it seemed a trifle
heavy. For all this she was fascinated by the picture of life as it might
have been lived long before man began writing his own history. And never
before had she listened to such singing.
It was in the last great scene that a fresh hope for the future was borne
in upon her. In the opera, Brunhilde having, contrary to the wishes of
the gods, interceded for her lover Sigmund, she must be punished. She
pleads her own cause in vain. At last she asks for a special punishment:
that she be allowed to sleep encircled by fire until a hero of her people
is found strong enough to rescue her.
Her wish is granted. Gently the god raises her and kisses her brow.
Slowly she sinks upon the rock while tongues of flame leap from the
rocks. Moment by moment the flames leap higher until the heroine is lost
from sight.
It was at the very moment when the fires burned fiercest, the orchestra
played its most amazing strains, that a great thought came to Jeanne.
"I will do it!" she cried aloud. "How wonderful that will be! We shall
have an opera. The magic curtain; it shall be like this."
Then, realizing that there were people close at hand, she clapped a hand
to her lips and was silent.
A moment more and the strains of delectable music died away. Then it was
that a man touched Jeanne's arm.
"You are French." The man had an unmistakable accent.
"Yes, monsieur."
"I would like a word with you."
"Yes, yes. If you will please wait here." As Pierre, in a dress suit,
Jeanne still had work to do.
Her head awhirl with her bright new idea, her eyes still seeing red from
the fires that guarded Brunhilde, she hurried through with her humble
tasks. Little wonder that she had forgotten the little Frenchman with the
small beard. She started when he touched her arm.
"Pardon, my son. May I now have a word with you?"
She started at that word "son," but quickly regained her poise.
"Surely you may." She was at his command.
"I am looking," he began at once, "for a little French girl named Petite
Jeanne."
"Pet--Petite!" The little French girl did not finish. She was trembling.
"Ah! Perhaps you know her."
"No, no. Ah, yes, yes," Jeanne answered in wild confusion.
"You will perhaps tell me where she lives. I have a very important
message for her. I came from France to bring it."
"From France?" Jeanne was half smothered with excitement. What should she
do? Should she say: "I am Petite Jeanne?" Ah, no; she dared not. Then an
inspiration came to her.
"You wish this person's address? This Petite Jeanne?"
"If you will," the man replied politely.
"Very well. I will write it down."
Drawing a small silver pencil from her pocket with trembling fingers, she
wrote an address upon the back of a program.
"There, monsieur. This is it.
"I think--" She shifted her feet uneasily. "I am sure she works rather
late. If you were to call, perhaps in an hour, you might find her there."
"So late as this?" The Frenchman raised his eyebrows.
"I am sure she would not mind."
"Very well. I shall try. And a thousand thanks." He pressed a coin in her
unwilling hand. The next moment he had vanished.
"Gone!" she murmured, sinking into a seat. "Gone! And he had an important
message for me! Oh! I must hurry home!"
Even as she spoke these words she detected a rustle at the back of the
box. Having turned quickly about, she was just in time to see someone
pass into the narrow aisle. It was the lady in black.
"I wonder if she heard?" Jeanne's heart sank.
As she left the Opera House the little French girl's spirits were low.
The lady in black frightened her. "What can she mean, always dogging my
footsteps?" she asked herself as she sought the street.
"And that dark-faced one? I saw him again to-night by the door. Who is
he? What can he want?"
There was a little group of people gathered by the door. As she passed
out, she fancied she caught a glimpse of that dark, forbidding face,
those evil eyes.
With a shudder she sped away. She was not pursued.
At her apartment she quickly changed into her own plain house dress.
Having lighted the living-room fire, she waited a little for the return
of Florence, who should have been home long before.
"What can be keeping her?"
With nervous, uncertain steps, she crossed to her own chamber door.
Having entered, she went to the window. Her room was dark. The street
below was half dark. A distant lamp cast a dim, swaying light. At first
no one was to be seen. Then a single dark figure moved stealthily up the
street. The swaying light caused this person to take on the appearance of
an acrobat who leaped into the air, then came down like a rubber ball.
Even when he paused to look up at the building before him, he seemed to
sway like a drunken sailor.
"That may be the man." Her pulse quickened.
A moment more and a car, careering down the street, lighted the man's
face. It did more. It brought into the open for a second another figure,
deeper in the shadows.
"What a strange pair!" she murmured as she shrank back.
The man least concealed was the dark-faced one with the evil eye. The
other man was Jaeger, the detective.
"But they are not together," she assured herself. "Jaeger is watching the
other, and the dark one is watching me."
Even as she said this, a third person came into view.
Instantly, by his slow stride, his military bearing, she recognized the
man.
"It is he!" She was thrown into a state of tumult. "It is my Frenchman."
But what was this? He was on the opposite side of the street, yet he did
not cross over, nor so much as glance that way. He marched straight on.
She wanted to rush down the stairs and call to him; yet she dared not,
for were not those sinister figures lurking there?
To make matters worse, the dark-faced one took to following the
Frenchman. Darting from shadow to shadow, he obviously believed himself
unobserved. False security. Jaeger was on his trail.
"What does it all mean?" Jeanne asked herself. "Is this little Frenchman
after all but a tool of the police? Does he hope to trap me and secure
the pearls--which I do not have? Or is he with that evil one with the
desperate eyes? Or is it true that he came but now from France and bears
a message for me?"
Since she could answer none of these questions, she left her room, looked
to the fastening of the outer door, then took a seat by the fire. There
for a long time she tried to read her fortune in the flames, but
succeeded in seeing only a flaming curtain that was not consumed.