“But where has she gone?” Jeanne demanded eagerly.
The tall, dark man spread his hands wider still. “Who knows? Not one among us here. We are through at this city. She will not come back here. Shall we see her again? Who can say? She is a queer one, that dancer.”
“Yes,” Jeanne murmured low, “she is a queer one.”
At that she made her way from the fast clearing house out into the cool, damp night. She had wanted to dance on that broad stage. She wanted to dance no more. The dark lady had appeared before her very eyes. Now she was gone. She, Petite Jeanne, had failed.
CHAPTER XXI
AN ASTONISHING DISCOVERY
When Jeanne returned from the Ballet Russe she found Madame Bihari seated by a low table. Before her, spread out in rows, were her gypsy witch cards. So intent was her study of these cards that she did not so much as notice the little French girl’s entrance. When Jeanne had put away her cape, she pressed one cold hand against Madame’s cheek to whisper:
“And what do the cards say tonight?”
Madame Bihari started. “Many things,” she murmured low. “Always they speak of many things, hunger, happiness, sickness, sudden death, great riches, love, hate, despair. The cards tell of life, and this, my child, is life.
“But my Jeanne—” her tone changed. “You have often spoken of a visit to Florence and Danby Force in their so beautiful city. It is well that we go tomorrow.”
“Do the cards say this?” Jeanne demanded.