“Marjory Bryce! My Marjory!” The little French girl was choked with emotion as these words escaped her. Fortunately they were too faint to be heard below.
That settled the matter. All other desires, all duties, all hopes and dreams were lost in one great desire. She must see the star of all time, her Marjory, perform, not in some dimly distant time, but right here in the golden now.
So, little dreaming what this resolve might mean, she pressed her cheeks against two iron bars and awaited the next move in this singing drama which she but dimly understood.
“Anyway,” she whispered softly, “I’ve got a top-stage seat. Who could ask for more?”
CHAPTER XXXIII
A PRISONER ESCAPES
In the meantime a passing stranger, who had witnessed from a distance Florence’s struggle with the two men before the theatre door, and had arrived on the scene too late to be of any assistance, had rushed into the theatre lobby to spread the alarm.
There he fell into the arms of Solomon. His tale was quickly told, and at once three greatly excited persons ran into the street. They were Solomon, Angelo and Dan Baker.
Sprinting along in the direction indicated by the stranger, Angelo plunged boldly into the dark shadows by the bridge.
There was no one there. But by good chance he came upon Florence’s Boston bag lying on the ground.
The exclamation of joy that escaped his lips at sight of it died suddenly. As he lifted it from the earth he found it almost as light as air.