by Roy J. Snell
CHAPTER VI THE WOMAN IN BLACK
By the time she reached the doorway that led to her humble abode, PetiteJeanne was in high spirits. The brisk walk had stirred her blood. Herrecent adventure had quickened her imagination. She was prepared foranything.
Alas, how quickly all this vanished! One moment she was a heroinemarching forth to face that which life might fling at her; the next shewas limp as a rag doll. Such was Petite Jeanne. The cause?
The room she entered was dark; chill damp hung over the place like ashroud. Florence was not there. The fire was dead. Cheer had passed fromthe place; gloom had come.
Jeanne could build a fire. This is an art known to all wanderers, and shehad been a gypsy. But she lacked the will to put her skill to the test,so, quite in despair, she threw herself in a chair and lay there, lookingfor all the world like a deserted French doll, as she whispered toherself:
"What can it matter? Life is without a true purpose, all life. Why shouldone struggle? Why not go down with the tide? Why--"
But in one short moment all this was changed. The door flew open.Florence burst into the room and with her came a whole gust of fresh lakeair, or so it seemed to Jeanne.
"You have been to the island!" she exclaimed, as she became a veryanimated doll.
"Yes, I have been there." Excitement shone from the big girl's eyes. "AndI have made a surprising discovery. But wait. What ails the fire?"
"There is no fire."
"But why?"
Jeanne shrugged. "One does not know," she murmured.
Seizing the antiquated wood-hamper that stood by the hearth, Florencepiled shavings and kindling high. Then, after scratching a match, shewatched the yellow flames spread as shadows began dancing on the wall.
"You have been surrendering to gloom," she said reprovingly. "Don't doit. It's bad for you. Where there is light there is hope. And see how ourfire gleams!"
"You speak truth, my friend." Jeanne's tone was solemn.
"But tell me." Her mood changed. "You have met adventure. So have I." Hereyes 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 onewear in jail?"
"You are joking," Florence replied. "This is a serious affair. But, sinceyou will go, it will not help to be late. We must hurry."
A moment later, arm in arm, they passed from the outer door and the dulldamp of night swallowed them up.
When, a short time later, Petite Jeanne, garbed as Pierre Andrews, stoleapprehensively through the entrance to the great opera house, herever-fearful eyes fell upon two men loitering just within.
The change that came over one of these, a tall, dark young man with asteely eye, as he caught sight of Jeanne was most astonishing. Turningsquare about like some affair of metal set on wheels, he appeared aboutto leap upon her. Only a grip on his arm, that of his more stockycompanion, 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 asmiling wolf.
"Hey there, boy!" he called to Jeanne.
But Jeanne, in her immaculate suit of black, gave but one frightenedbackward look, and then sped for the elevator.
Her heart was doing double time as she saw the elevator door silentlyclose.
"Who could that man be?" she questioned herself breathlessly. "He can'thave been a detective. They do not stand on ceremony. He would be here bymy side, with a hand on my arm. But if not a detective, what then?" Shecould 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 theend of it. Come on outside." His eyes strayed to the corner. Adeep-chested man whose coat bulged in a strange way was loitering there."Air's bad in here."
They passed out into the night. And there we leave them. But not forlong. Men such as these are found in curious places and at unheard-ofhours.
But Jeanne? With her heart stilled for a brief period of time, she roseto the floor above, only to be thrown into a state of mind bordering onhysteria at thought of facing the ordeal that must lie just before her.
Seeking a dark corner, she closed her eyes. Allowing her head to dropforward, she stood like one in prayer. Did she pray, or did she butsurrender her soul and body to the forces of nature all about her? Whocan say but that these two are the same, or at least that their effect isthe same? However that may be, it was a changed Jeanne who, three minuteslater, took up her post of duty in the boxes, for hers was the air of asentry. Her movements were firm and steady, the look upon her face ascalm as the reflection of the moon upon a still pool at midnight.
That which followed was silent drama. Throughout it all, not a word wasspoken, no, not so much as whispered. The effect was like a thing ofmagic. Jeanne will never erase those pictures from her memory.
Scarcely had she taken her place at the door leading to the box than thegreat magnate, J. Rufus Robinson, and his daughter, she of the lostpearls, appeared. Jeanne caught her breath as she beheld the cape ofgreen velvet trimmed with white fur and the matchless French gown ofcream colored silk she wore. There was no lack of jewels despite the lostpearls. A diamond flashed here, a ruby burned there, yet they did notoutshine 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 manwith those luminous eyes. She had asked him if all this was life--thiswealth, this pomp and circumstance. And he had replied quite calmly: "Itis a form of life."
At that instant Jeanne thought of impending events that hung over herlike a sword suspended by a hair, and shuddered.
Assisting the millionaire's daughter to remove her wrap, she carried itto the cloak-room at the back, then assisted the pair to arrange theirchairs. 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 theshadows stood a woman in black. Jeanne did not see the woman. She did seethe man, and shuddered again. He, she realized, was the detective.
As she turned her back, the detective moved, prepared without doubt toadvance upon her. But a curious thing happened. The woman in the shadowsdarted forward. Touching the arm of the rich young lady, she pointed atJeanne and nodded her head. The girl in turn looked at the detective andshook her head. Then both the detective and the woman in black lostthemselves in the shadows at the back of the box.
All this was lost to Jeanne. Her back had been turned. Her mind had beenfilled by a magic panorama, a picture of that which was to pass acrossthe opera stage that night. Thus does devotion to a great art cause us toforget the deepest, darkest trouble in our lives.
All during that long evening Petite Jeanne found herself profoundlypuzzled. Why was nothing said to her regarding the pearls? Why was shenot arrested?
"They have been found," she told herself at last. Yet she doubted her ownwords, as well she might.
Two incidents of the evening impressed her. As she left the box during anintermission the rich girl turned a bright smile full upon her as shesaid:
"What is your name?"
Caught off her guard, the little French girl barely escaped betraying hersecret. 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 passed on.
"Now why did she do that?" Jeanne's head was in a whirl.
Scarcely had she regained her compos
ure 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 blackwas already turned about. She was walking away. Jeanne did not see herface, 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.
