“No, no!” The little French girl’s cheeks paled as she drew back! “Not here! I will show you. But please, not here.”
Petite Jeanne was strangely silent as they rattled homeward on an elevated train. Her actions, too, were strange. The mysterious package with its question-provoking foreign labels lay beside her on the seat. Once, as she appeared to waken from a trance-like state, she put out a hand to push the package far from her.
“As if it contained some hidden peril,” Merry told herself.
The next moment, as if afraid some one would take it from her, the little French girl was holding the package close to her side.
When they had gained the seclusion of her own small room, all was changed. She became vastly excited. Throwing off her wraps, she pulled down the shades, threw on a table lamp that gave forth a curious red glow; then, tearing the package open, she drew forth a curious figure done in some metal that resembled bronze. A bust it was, the head and shoulders of a man. And such a man! Such a long, twisted nose! Such protruding eyes! Such a leer as overspread his features!
“Oh!” exclaimed Merry. “How terrible!”
“Do you think so?” Petite Jeanne spoke as one in a trance.
She set the bronze figure in the light of the red lamp. There it appeared to take on the glow of fire, the popping eyes gleaming wickedly.
Petite Jeanne did not seem to mind this. She stood and stared at the thing until a look of dreamy rapture overspread her face. Then she spoke:
“This is the gypsy God of Fire. How often in hidden places, beside hedges and in the heart of dark forests I have danced before him the gypsy fire dance, the dance that brings health and happiness! How often I have longed to possess him! And now he is mine! Mine, for I have bought him. Bought him for three tiny quarters.