It was the stout Florence who sprang to her feet and, but for Jeanne, would have dashed away in mad pursuit.
But Jeanne prevented this. She leaped forward just in time to seize her friend about the waist.
“No! No! My friend, you must not! You will be killed! He has a knife!” she exclaimed in a hoarse whisper. “He has that dagger with three blades! You—you have nothing!”
“I have my two hands!” Florence continued to struggle. “He is small, only a little Chinaman. I—I saw him. I’d break his back if he did not give me the knife!”
“But think!” Jeanne loosed her hold as Florence ceased to struggle. “It is only a dagger, a dagger I found in a box, and we paid so little for that box.”
“Only a dagger with a hilt encrusted with jewels!” Florence dropped to her place beside the dying fire.
“Rich for a moment,” she sighed, “then poor forever.
“But I’ll know that man if I ever see him again,” she added hopefully. “He had the longest ears of any person I ever saw. He wore an orange-colored cap, and there was a bit of bright glass—oval-shaped it was—shining from his forehead. And those ears!” she exclaimed. “Who could mistake them?”
“We will find him. Truly we must!” Jeanne spoke with confidence. “This is the enchanted hour. My enchanted hour!”
* * * * * * * *