“This,” said Jeanne, as she felt her feet once more on a solid floor, “is my luckee day.”
“It must be,” agreed the girl. “It’s a wonder you weren’t cut by broken glass. But how did you happen to come in here?”
“A gypsy chased me.”
“A gypsy! How I hate them!” The girl’s face darkened.
“You shouldn’t. Not all of them. Some are good, some bad. I used to be a gypsy.”
“Not really!” The big blue eyes were open wide, staring.
“Well, anyway, in France I traveled with them for a long, long time. And they were very, very kind to me, Bihari and his band.
“But that man!” She threw an apprehensive glance toward the open window. “Ugh! He is a very terrible man. I have not seen him in America before. I wish he would go away forever.”
“It’s good he didn’t follow you.” The girl glanced once more at the window. “I shouldn’t have been much protection. And Tad, he—” she hesitated. “Well, he isn’t much of a fighter.” Jeanne saw a wistful look steal over the girl’s face.
“But come!” said the impromptu hostess, “Let’s get out of here. That gypsy might find us yet.”