When at last, having told his quaint story and been accepted as a dancer in place of the bear, the old trouper with Jeanne as his partner danced twice across the stage and disappeared into the shadows, the silence was shattered by such a roar of applause as the beautiful little playhouse had never before known.
Seven times the curtain rose. Seven times the little French girl dragged her reluctant hero, Dan Baker, out to the footlights to bow to the still applauding audience.
When at last the curtain fell for good, she whispered, “What a beginning! But there is yet more.”
Who can describe in mere words of black on white the glories of that night? The scenes, done by an artist who had lived long in France, reproduced faithfully the gypsy camp by the roadside, the garden of the Tuileries in Paris and the little private garden of a rich French home.
To many who saw them, these scenes brought back tender memories of the past. Some had been soldiers there, and some had gone there to enjoy the glory that is Paris.
And when Jeanne, a golden sprite, now leaping like a flame, now gliding like some wild thing of the forest, now seeming to float on air like a bird, poised herself against these marvelous settings, there came at every turn fresh gasps of surprise and delight.
Nor did Jeanne seek all the glory. She appeared ever eager to bring forward those who were about her. When Dan Baker did his fantastic rustic dance and told his more fantastic yarns, she watched and listened as no others could. And hers was the first shrill scream of delight.
When the chorus came weaving its way across the stage she joined them as one who is not a leader, but a humble companion.
Indeed as the evening wore on, the delighted audience became more and more conscious of the fact that the little French dancer was not, in spirit, on that stage at all, but by some roadside in France and that, while contributing her share to the joy of the occasion, she was gleaning her full share from those who joined her in each act.
This was exactly what had happened. And Jeanne was not conscious of the row on row of smiling, upturned faces. She saw only one row. And in that row, by her request, sat the members of what she had playfully termed her “Outer Golden Circle.”