“Yes. You good. You kind. You not bad. Gypsy not forget. I must tell.”
Mystified, Florence motioned her to a seat.
The tale the woman had to tell was a long one, and passing strange. In her broken tongue, with many repetitions, it was long in the telling.
And all the time the clock was ticking away the moments. Petite Jeanne’s great hour approached.
CHAPTER XXXI
PETITE JEANNE’S DARK HOUR
Petite Jeanne reached the theatre. She was quite alone. She entered at the stage door unnoticed. A chill numbed her being as the shadowy hallway leading to the dressing rooms engulfed her.
The past ten days, as she reviewed them now, seemed a bad dream. Rehearsals had been carried to the last degree of rigor. The director had been tireless and exacting. On her return the physician had pronounced her physically perfect; yet, at this moment her knees seemed ready to cave in beneath her.
“The first night!” she whispered to herself. How often, in the last few days, she had heard those words. Experienced actors who had known many “first nights” and many failures as well, spoke them in whispers. Inexperienced youngsters shouted them. As for Jeanne, no one had heard these words fall from her lips.
“So much depends upon to-night,” she told herself. “Success or failure. And who does not wish to succeed grandly?”
The curtain was down, the stage deserted, as she paused in the wings before going to her dressing room, where Tico, curled up in a warm corner, awaited her.