by Roy J. Snell
CHAPTER VII DREAMS OF OTHER DAYS
Petite Jeanne left the opera house that night in a brown study. She wasperplexed beyond words. The necklace had not been found. She had madesure of that when, between the second and third act, she had discoveredon a bulletin board of the lobby a typewritten notice of the loss and anoffer of a reward for the return of the pearls.
"If the pearls had been found that notice would have been taken down,"she assured herself. "But if this is true, why did I go unmolested? Onewould suppose that at least I would be questioned regarding the affair.But no!" She shrugged her graceful shoulders. "They ask me nothing. Theylook and look, and say nothing. Oh, yes, indeed, they say: 'What is yourname?' That most beautiful rich one, she says this. And the dark one whois only a voice, she says: 'Do you like the opera?' She asks this. Andwho is she? I know that voice. I have heard it before. It is veryfamiliar, yet I cannot recall it. If she is here again I shall see herface."
Having thus worked herself into a state of deep perplexity that rapidlyripened into fear, she glided, once her duties were done, down a narrowaisle, across the end of the stage where a score of stage hands were busyshifting scenes, then along a narrow passage-way, with which, as you willknow from reading _The Golden Circle_, she was thoroughly familiar. Fromthis passageway she emerged upon a second and narrower stage.
This was the stage of the Civic Theatre. The stage was dark. The housewas dark. Only the faintest gleam of light revealed seats like ghostsranged row on row.
How familiar it all seemed to her. The time had been when, not manymonths back, she had stood upon that stage and by the aid of herGod-given gift, had stirred the audience to admiration, to laughter andto tears.
As she stood there now a wave of feeling came over her that she could notresist. This stage, this little playhouse had become to her what homemeans to many. The people who had haunted those seats were _her_ people.They had loved her. She had loved them. But now they were gone. The housewas dark, the light opera troop was scattered. She thought she knew how amother robin must feel as she visits her nest long after the fledglingshave flown.
Advancing to the center of the stage, she stretched her arms wide in muteappeal to the empty seats. But no least whisper of admiration ordisapproval came back to her.
A moment she stood thus. Then, as her hands dropped, her breast heavedwith one great sob.
But, like the sea, Jeanne was made of many moods. "No! No!" She stampedher small foot. "I will not come back to this! I will not! The way backis closed. Only the door ahead is open. I will go on.
"Grand Opera, this is all now. This is art indeed. Pictures, music,story. This is Grand Opera. Big! Grand! Noble! Some day, somehow I shallstand upon that most wonderful of all stages, and those people, thosethousands, the richest, the most learned, the most noble, they shall bemy people!"
Having delivered this speech to the deserted hall, she once again becamea very little lady in a trim black dress suit, seeking a way to the outerair and the street that led to home.
She had come this way because she feared that the slender, dark-facedstranger who had accosted her earlier in the evening would await her atthe door.
"If he sees me he will follow," she told herself. "And then--"
She finished with a shudder.
In choosing this way she had counted upon one circumstance. Nor had shecounted in vain. As she hurried down the dark aisle toward the back ofthe theatre which was, she knew, closed, she came quite suddenly upon aman with a flashlight and time clock.
"Oh, Tommy Mosk!" she exclaimed in a whisper. "How glad I am that you arestill here!"
The watchman threw his light upon her face.
"Petite Jeanne!" he exclaimed. "But why the masquerade?" Tommy belongedto those other days and, with the rest, had come to love the simple,big-hearted little light opera star. "Petite Jeanne! But why--"
"Please don't make me tell." She gripped his arm. "Only let me out, andsee me safe into a taxi. And--and--" She put a finger to her lips. "Don'twhisper a word."
"I--it's irregular, but I--I'll do it," he replied gallantly.
Jeanne gave his arm another squeeze and they were away.
Three minutes later, still dressed as Pierre, the usher, she was huddledon the broad seat of a taxi, speeding for home.
