“But if they say I am great,” again her mood changed, “if they say it in truth, that is because I have always had your Golden Circle in the back of my poor little head; because I have striven ever and always, not for my success but for our success—for the success of the whole company, from the least to the greatest.
“You have learned at a very tender age, my child, that this alone brings true success and lasting happiness.”
For a time they sat in silence. Changes were taking place all about them, but the little French girl was not at all conscious of them. She was wrapped in her own thoughts.
“But what is this curious thing you have at your side?” her companion asked soberly.
“That? Why—oh, that is the gypsy God of Fire.” Seeing the prima donna’s eyes light with sudden interest, she went on. “He fell from some planet, to the land of India. There, beneath the palms, the gypsy folk worshiped him before they came to Europe. After that they brought him to France. And now I have him,” she ended quite simply.
“But how did you come into possession of so rare a treasure?”
Jeanne told her.
“But why do you not keep him locked away in a vault?”
“Because without him I cannot do my dances as they should be done. It is he who inspires me.”
“Ah!” sighed the great one. “I, too, once believed in fairies and goblins, in angels and curious gods.”