Signor Tojetti turned to Mariposa, and, with solemn effort, produced an English phrase:
“Eet ees time to went.” Then he waved his hand toward the stage. The sound of feet echoed therefrom, and as Mariposa looked, an irruption of vague, spectral shapes rose from some unseen cavernous entrance and peopled the orchestra.
“It’s the rehearsal,” she said. “We must be going.”
They moved forward toward the entrance, the auditorium behind them beginning to resound with the noise of the incoming performers. A scraping of strings came from the darkened orchestra, and mingled with the tentative chords struck from the piano. At the door Lepine joined them, falling into step beside Shackleton and conversing with him in low tones. Signor Tojetti escorted them to the brass rail and there withdrew with low bows. The ladies made out that the rehearsal demanded his presence.
Once again in the gray light of the afternoon they stood for a moment at the curb waiting for the carriage.
Lepine offered his farewells to Mariposa and his wishes to see her again.
“In Paris,” he said, giving his little quizzical smile—“that is the place in which I should like to see Mademoiselle.”
“We’ll talk about that again,” said Shackleton; “I’m going to see Mr. Lepine before he goes and have another talk about you. You see, you’re becoming a very important young lady.”
The carriage rolled up and Mariposa was assisted in, several street boys watching her with wide-eyed interest as evidently a personage of distinction.
Her face at the window smiled a radiant farewell at the group on the sidewalk; then she sank back breathless. What an afternoon! Would the carriage ever get her home, that she might pour it all out to her mother! What a thrilling, wonderful, unheard-of afternoon!