They had been sitting thus in absolute silence for some time when, with a rush that brought in a wave of cold air, Florence burst into the room.
“Oh, Florence! My own!” Jeanne cried, throwing herself into the big girl’s arms. “To-night fairies and angels and godfathers have been here and for you and me the world begins once more to roll round and round just as it used to do!”
“Steady there!” said Angelo soberly. “We have another opportunity to make good. That is all. We must all do our very best. We must guard our steps well. Then, perhaps, all our dreams will come true.”
A few minutes later, a sober but joyous company, they parted for the night.
As Jeanne left the room she allowed her eyes to stray to the corner where rested the three traveling bags. She heaved a great sigh of relief and crowded her life saving fifty dollar bill deeper into her small purse. She had not been obliged to sell the treasures of a friend, and for this she was more thankful than for her own good fortune.
But would this friend ever come for his property? She wondered.
As they made their way through the driving snow to the street car Florence thought she caught a glimpse of a dark, bulky figure following in the shadows. Seizing Petite Jeanne by the arm she hurried along.
A car came rolling up on the padded snow just as they arrived. Soon they were stowed away in its warm depths. Not, however, until Florence had noted that the bulky figure was a large man in a green overcoat.
“We lost him,” she thought with some satisfaction.
She was wrong. As they rose to leave the car she saw, seated at the back, that same man. She knew in an instant who he was. For ten seconds her brain whirled. She was obliged to grip the edge of a seat for support.