CHAPTER XVIII

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.