Instead, she patted his hand and murmured: “Thank you so much for such a lovely time and for those wonderful, wonderful stories.”
“But you are not leaving us so soon?” protested the young Italian.
“I must. This is to be my luckee day. Strange, mysterious happenings have come to me. More will come. I have an engagement to meet a new friend. She will take me to a sale. There I shall buy a package at auction. What is in the package? Who knows? Perhaps I shall purchase two, or even three. What will these contain? Who knows? Much, I am sure. For this is my luckee day.”
She sang these last words as she danced out of the lunch room.
The others followed. “But you will see me again,” pleaded the young Italian. “You are to be in my play, my light opera. I shall write it at once, around you; you only and him, my white-haired friend. It shall be about your beautiful Paree. And oh, how wonderful it shall be! It has all come to me as you told your story. It is wonderful! Marvelous! I have only to write it. And I shall write it with an electric pen that spits fire. You shall see!
“Only grant me this!” In his excitement he waved his hands wildly. Petite Jeanne could have loved him for that; for is it not thus they do in her beloved France? “Grant me this!” he pleaded. “Come to my studio to-night. When your lucky day is over. Then the night shall be more fortunate than the day.
“See!” he exclaimed as he read doubt in her eyes. “It is all right. My white-haired friend will be there. And if you wish—”
“All right,” said the girl impulsively, “I will come. I will bring my friend.”
“Yes, yes,” he agreed eagerly. “Bring your friends. Bring many friends. We shall have a party by the open fire. We shall have tea and biscuits and preserves from my native land.”
“No,” said the little French girl, as a teasing smile played about her lips. “I will bring one friend, only one. And she is big as a policeman, and so strong! Mon Dieu! She is a physical director. She can swim a mile, and skate like a man. And, oh, la, la! You shall see her.”