The hidden secret was no secret at all. The house, being a very old one, had been erected before the coming of electric lights. When installing the lights the electricians had found it necessary to open the floors of the upper rooms in order that they might install lights for the lower floors.
“Oh!” Florence sighed. “What a disappointment!”
“No!” cried Petite Jeanne. “See what we have found!”
“Found! What have we found?” Florence stared.
“We have found a safe place of hiding for my ancient friend, the God of Fire. How sweet! We have only to lift the boards, lower him to the laths below, batten down the hatch once more, and there you have him as snug as a diamond in a new setting.”
“You’re keen!” Florence put out a hand to pat her friend’s blonde head. “Now we can sleep in peace.”
And so they did, awakening at a late hour to a world of sunshine and high hopes. Nor is there reason to believe that his Highness objected in the least to the darkness of his place among the beams and plaster.
CHAPTER XI
HAPPY DAYS
Happy days followed. Petite Jeanne, whose circle of true friends in this great world had been pitiably small, found her horizon greatly enlarged. Truly the day of adventures in Merry’s cellar and out in the park while she danced the sun up from the depths of the lake had been her lucky day. For one might well have gone about the city of three million souls holding a lamp before every face without finding the equal to that brave trio, Angelo the playwright, Swen the maker of melodies and Dan Baker the beloved vagabond of the stage.
Happy days they were, and busy ones as well. Each evening found them assembled in Angelo’s studio. In order that they might talk as they ate, they brought dinner along. Each member of the little group contributed something. Swen provided chops, steaks, oysters or fish; Angelo added such strange viands as he could devise, curious hot Mexican dishes, rich preparations from his native land, or unthinkable Russian mixtures; Florence and Petite Jeanne arrived each evening with apple-squares, date-tarts or some other form of tempting dessert; Dan Baker practiced the ancient and all but lost art of coffee brewing so skilfully that after drinking they all felt that dawn was on the point of breaking, and they were ready to walk out into a dewy morn.