by Roy J. Snell
CHAPTER IX CAUGHT IN THE ACT
And on that new day, like a ray of sunshine breaking through the cloudsafter a storm, there came to Jeanne an hour of speechless joy.
Having exercised as ever her gift of friendship to all mankind, she wasable, through her acquaintance with the watchman, to enter the operahouse when she chose. There was only one drawback to this; she must enteralways as Pierre and never as Petite Jeanne.
Knowing that some sort of rehearsal would be in progress, she garbedherself in her Pierre costume and repaired to the place which to her, ofall places on earth, seemed the home of pure enchantment--the opera.
Even now, when the seats were clothed like ghosts in white sheets, whenthe aisles, so often adorned with living models all a-glitter with silksand jewels, and echoing with the sound of applause and laughter, weredark and still, the great hall lost none of its charm.
As she tripped noiselessly down the foyer where pillars cut from somecurious stone flanked her on every side and priceless chandeliers hunglike blind ghosts far above her head, she thought of the hundreds who hadpromenaded here displaying rich furs, costly silks and jewels. Sherecalled, too, the remark of that strangely studious man with a beard:
"It is a form of life."
"I wonder what he meant?" she said half aloud. "Perhaps some day I shallmeet him again. If I do, I shall ask him."
But Jeanne was no person to be living in the past. She dreamed of thefuture when only dreams were at her command. For her the vivid, living,all-entrancing _present_ was what mattered most. She had not haunted thebuilding long before she might have been found curled up in a seat amongthe dark shadows close to the back row on the orchestra floor. She hadpushed the white covering away, but was still half hidden by it; shecould be entirely hidden in a second's time if she so willed.
Behind and above her, black chasms of darkness, the boxes and balconiesloomed. Before her the stage, all dark, seemed a mysterious cave where ahundred bandits might hide among the settings of some imposing scene.
She did not know the name of the opera to be rehearsed on this particularafternoon. Who, then, can describe the stirring of her blood, thequickening of her heart-beats, the thrill that coursed through her verybeing when the first faint flush of dawn began appearing upon the scenethat lay before her? A stage dawn it was, to be sure; but very littleless than real it was, for all that. In this matchless place of amusementshades of light, pale gray, blue, rosy red, all come creeping out, anddawn lingers as it does upon hills and forests of earth and stone andwood.
Eagerly the little French girl leaned forward to catch the first glimpseof that unknown scene. Slowly, slowly, but quite surely, to the right abuilding began looming out from that darkness. The trunk of a treeappeared, another and yet another. Dimly a street was outlined. One byone these objects took on a clearer line until with an impulsivemovement, Jeanne fairly leaped from her place.
"It is France!" she all but cried aloud. "My own beloved France! And theopera! It is to be 'The Juggler of Notre Dame'! Was there ever suchmarvelous good fortune!"
It was indeed as if a will higher than her own had planned all this, forthis short opera was the one Jeanne had studied. It was this opera, asyou will remember from reading _The Golden Circle_, that Jeanne had oncewitnessed quite by chance as she lay flat upon the iron grating more thana hundred feet above the stage.
"And now I shall see Marjory Dean play in it once more," she exulted."For this is a dress rehearsal, I am sure of that."
She was not long in discovering that her words were true. Scarcely hadthe full light of day shone upon that charming stage village, nestledamong the hills of France, than a company of peasants, men, women andchildren, all garbed in bright holiday attire, came trooping upon thestage.
But what was this? Scarcely had they arrived than one who loitered behindbegan shouting in the most excited manner and pointing to the road thatled back to the hills.
"The juggler is coming," Jeanne breathed. "The juggler of Notre Dame."She did not say Marjory Dean, who played the part. She said: "thejuggler," because at this moment she lived again in that beautifulvillage of her native land. Once again she was a gypsy child. Once moreshe camped at the roadside. With her pet bear and her friend, thejuggler, she marched proudly into the village to dance for pennies beforethe delighted crowd in the village square.
What wonder that Petite Jeanne knew every word of this charming opera byheart? Was it not France as she knew it? And was not France her nativeland?
Breathing deeply, clutching now and then at her heart to still its wildbeating, she waited and watched. A second peasant girl followed the firstto the roadside. She too called and beckoned. Others followed her. Andthen, with a burst of joyous song, their gay garments gleaming like a bedof flowers, their faces shining, these happy villagers came troopingback. And in their midst, bearing in one hand a gay, colored hoop, in theother a mysterious bag of tricks, was the juggler of Notre Dame.
"It is Marjory Dean, Marjory herself. She is the juggler," Jeannewhispered. She dared not trust herself to do more. She wanted to leap toher feet, to clap her hands and cry: "Ray! Ray! Ray! _Vive! Vive! Vive!_"
But no, this would spoil it all. She must see this beautiful storythrough to its end.
So, calming herself, she settled back to see the juggler, arrayed in hisfantastic costume, open his bag of tricks. She saw him delight hisaudience with his simple artistry.
She watched, breathless, as a priest, coming from the monastery, rebukedhim for practicing what he believed to be a sinful art. She suffered withthe juggler as he fought a battle with his soul. When he came near to thedoor of the monastery that, being entered, might never again beabandoned, she wished to rise and shout:
"No! No! Juggler! Stay with the happy people in the bright sunshine. Showthem more of your art. Life is too often sad. Bring joy to their lives!"
She said, in reality, nothing. When at last the curtain fell, she wasfilled with one desire: to be for one short hour the juggler of NotreDame. She knew the words of his song; had practiced his simple tricks.
"Why not? Sometime--somewhere," she breathed.
"Sometime? Somewhere?" She realized in an instant that no place could bequite the same to her as this one that in all its glories of green andgold surrounded her now.
When the curtain was up again the stage scene remained the same; but thegay peasants, the juggler, were gone.
After some moments of waiting Jeanne realized that this scene had beenset for the night's performance, that this scene alone would be rehearsedupon the stage.
"They are gone! It is over!" How empty her life seemed now. It was as ifa great light had suddenly gone out.
Stealing from her place, she crept down the aisle, entered a door andemerged at last upon a dark corner of the stage.
For a moment, quite breathless, she stood there in the shadows, watching,listening.
"There is no one," she breathed. "I am alone."
An overpowering desire seized her to don the juggler's costume, to singhis songs, to do his tricks. The costume was there, the bag of tricks.Why not?
Pausing not a second, she crept to the center of the stage, seized thecoveted prizes, then beat a hasty retreat.
Ten minutes later, dancing lightly and singing softly, she came upon thestage. She was there alone. Yet, in her mind's eye she saw the villagersof France, matrons and men, laughing lovers, dancing children, all beforeher as, casting her bag upon the green, she seized some trifling baublesand began working her charms.
For her, too, the seats were not dark, covered empties, but filled withhuman beings, filled with the light and joy of living.
Of a sudden she seemed to hear the reproving words of the priest.
Turning about, with sober face, she stood before the monastery door.
And then, like some bird discovered in a garden, she wanted to run away.For there, in very life, a little way back upon the vast stage, stood allt
he peasants of the opera. And in their midst, garbed in street attire,was Marjory Dean!
"Who are you? How do you dare tamper with my property, to put on mycostume?" Marjory Dean advanced alone.
There was sternness in her tone. But there was another quality besides.Had it not been for this, Jeanne might have crumpled in a helpless heapupon the stage. As it was, she could only murmur in her humblest manner:
"I--I am only an usher. See!" She stripped off the juggler's garb, andstood there in black attire. "Please do not be too hard. I have harmednothing. See! I will put it all back." This, with trembling fingers, sheproceeded to do. Then in the midst of profound silence, she retreatedinto the shadows.
She had barely escaped from the stage into the darkness of the opera pitwhen a figure came soft-footedly after her.
She wished to flee, but a voice seemed to whisper, "Stay!"
The word that came ten seconds after was, "Wait! You can't deceive me.You are Petite Jeanne!"
It was the great one, Marjory Dean, who spoke.
"Why, how--how could you know?" Jeanne was thrown into consternation.
"Who could not know? If one has seen you upon the stage before, he couldnot be mistaken.
"But, little girl," the great one's tone was deep and low like the mellowchimes of a great clock, "I will not betray you.
"You did that divinely, Petite Jeanne. I could not have done it better.And you, Jeanne, are much like me. A little make-up, and there you are,Petite Jeanne, who is Marjory Dean. Some day, perhaps, I shall allow youto take my place, to do this first act for me, before all this." Shespread her arms wide as if to take in a vast audience.
"No!" Jeanne protested. "I could never do that. Never! Marjory Dean,I--no! No!"
She broke off to stare into the darkness. No one was there!
"I could almost believe I imagined it," she told herself.
"And yet--no! It was true. She said it. Marjory Dean said that!"
Little wonder, then, that all the remaining hours of that day found onher fair face a radiance born, one might say, in Heaven.
Many saw that face and were charmed by it. The little rich girl saw it asJeanne performed her humble duties as Pierre. She was so taken by itthat, with her father's consent, she invited Pierre to visit her at herfather's estate next day. And Pierre accepted. And that, as you well mayguess, leads to quite another story.
