CHAPTER XXX
THEIR CROWDED HOUR
Petite Jeanne’s one big night was at hand. Already the shadows were growing long in her modest little sitting room. To-night, for one brief hour at least, she was to be an actress. How the thought thrilled her! An actress for an hour. And then?
True, she had acted once upon the stage of the famous Paris Opera. But that was but a fete, an affair of a single night. To-night much was to be decided. Would the play go on? Night after night would she dance the gypsy tarantella under the stage moon? Would these Americans applaud?
“Americans,” she said aloud, as she sat looking away into the gathering darkness. “After all, how little I know about them.”
“Americans are like all the rest of the world,” Florence replied. “They love laughter, dancing and song. Then, too, they can feel a pang of pity and shed a tear. Just dream that you are on the stage of the Paris Opera, and all will be well.”
Petite Jeanne was not sure. She had suddenly gone quite cold, and was not a little afraid.
“Green Eyes will be there. She hates me, I fear,” she murmured.
“On the stage, when the great act comes, there will be only Tico and you. The night, the broken cannons and the moon.”
“Ah, yes.” The little French girl sighed. “I must try to feel it and see it all as I felt and saw it, a small child in France.”
“In half an hour we must go to the theatre,” said Florence. “We will have a cup of tea, as we did sometimes when we were in our cabin.”