The Magic Curtain A Mystery Story for Girls

In spite of the fact that the Opera House was dark on the following night, adventure came to Petite Jeanne, adventure and excitement a-plenty. It came like the sudden rush of an...

The strangest moment in the little French girl's career was that in which, as the juggler, she tripped out upon the Opera House stage. More than three thousand people had assemb...

"What am I to wear?" she wailed. "As Pierre I can't very well wear pink chiffon and satin slippers. And of course evening dress does not go with an informal visit to an estate i...

As for Jeanne, once more dressed as Pierre and feeling like just no one at all, she had gone wandering away into the shadows of the orchestra floor, when suddenly she started. S...

Having exercised as ever her gift of friendship to all mankind, she was able, through her acquaintance with the watchman, to enter the opera house when she chose. There was only...

A more perplexing place of refuge could not have been found. What was it? Why was it here? Were there men about the place within the palisades? These were the questions that dis...

It had begun innocently enough. The back of a man's head, seen in a crowd, had interested her. She had made a study of men's heads. "There's as much character to be read in the...

In the meantime Florence and Jeanne were making the best of their opportunity to leave the "made land." They hoped to cross the bridge and reach the car line before the threaten...

It was that mystic hour when witches are abroad in the land: one o'clock in the morning. The vast auditorium of the Civic Opera House was a well of darkness and silence.

Florence had never seen the face lit up there in the night; yet it struck fear to her heart. What must we say, then, of Petite Jeanne? For this was the face of one who, more tha...

"Come!" Florence whispered, as the door of the ancient barracks swung open and they tiptoed out into the night. "We must find out what those men are doing. This place was built...

The circular fishing net, which had for so unusual a purpose been lowered into the lake at the dead of night and brought up later, quite empty, belonged to a youth, known among...

Fifteen minutes after his disappearance into the shadows, the youth, still clad in a dress suit, might have been seen walking between the massive pillars that front the Grand Op...

By the time she reached the doorway that led to her humble abode, Petite Jeanne was in high spirits. The brisk walk had stirred her blood. Her recent adventure had quickened her...

Time marched on, as time has a way of doing. A week passed, another and yet another. Each night of opera found Jeanne, still masquerading as Pierre, at her post among the boxes....

Long after Petite Jeanne's dainty satin slippers had danced her off to bed, Florence Huyler sat before the fire thinking. If your acquaintance with Florence is of long standing,...

Petite Jeanne was a person of courage. Times there had been when, as a child living with the gypsies of France, she had believed that she saw a ghost. At the heart of black wood...

Jeanne, the foremost of these figures, knew that door. She had entered it before. Yet, as her hand touched the heavy handle, she was halted by a sudden fear. Her face blanched.

The very thought that it might prove a failure turned her cold. The happiness of her good friends, Angelo, Swen and Marjory Dean was at stake. And to Jeanne the happiness of tho...

That night, by the light of a fickle moon that ever and anon hid himself behind a cloud, Florence made her way alone to the shores of that curious island of "made land" on the l...

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...

Though that which happened to Jeanne on this very night could scarcely be called an adventure, it did serve to relieve the feeling of depression which had settled upon her like...

Angelo must be found. It was he who had written the successful light opera, _The Gypsy God of Fire_. No other could write as he--or so Jeanne thought. Yes, he must be found, and...

In the meantime Florence, too, had gone for a walk in the rain. The discovery she made that day was destined to play a very large part in her immediate future.

When Jeanne arrived at the rooms late that night, after her evening among the opera boxes, she found a half burned out fire in the grate and a rather amusing note from Florence...

Five days passed. Uneventful days they were for Petite Jeanne; yet each one was charged with possibilities both wonderful and terrible. She saw no more of Marjory Dean. What of...

"This is Marjory Dean." The words came to her over the wire in the faintest whisper. But how they thrilled her! "Is this Petite Jeanne? Or is it Pierre?" The prima donna was lau...

When Florence, whose work as physical director required her attention until late hours three nights in the week, arrived, she found the little French girl still dressed as Pierr...

"To-day," said Marjory Dean, as they came out upon the dimly lighted stage, "as you will see," she glanced about her where the setting of a French village was to be seen "we are...

Petite 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 seco...

"Meg, show Florence your stateroom." Aunt Bobby rose after her soliloquy. "Mine's more plain-like," she apologized. "The men set a heap of store on Meg, so they took what was th...

Petite Jeanne was a sun-worshipper and a fire-worshipper of the best sort. She worshipped the One Who created fire and Who sends us light to dispel the gloom of night. The day f...