“Then how can you go back?”
“Listen, my friend.” The slim one laid an impressive hand on the other’s arm. “Sometimes we have good fortune, is it not so? Yes. It is so. The young lady, that girl who lost the necklace, she will be there. She is kind. Something tells me this. She will not have Pierre Andrews arrested. Something tells me so. For look, now, as Pierre I am—how did you say it?—very handsome!”
“But, Petite Jeanne!” Florence broke short off. By this exclamation she had betrayed a secret. Since, however, only the walls and her companion heard it, it did not much matter. Our old friend, Petite Jeanne (the little French girl), and Pierre Andrews are one and the same person. On the stage Jeanne had played many a role. Now she was playing one in real life and playing it for a grand prize.
* * * * * * * *
But we must go back a little. Petite Jeanne, as you will recall if you have read that other book, The Gypsy Shawl, was a little French girl found wandering with the gypsies among the hills of France. Brought by a rich benefactress to America, she had made a splendid showing on the stage as a star in light opera.
All stage productions, however, have their runs and are no more. Petite Jeanne’s engagement had come to an end, leaving her with a pocketful of money and one great yearning, a yearning to have a place upon the stage in Grand Opera.
This longing had come to her through contact with a celebrated opera star, Marjory Dean. Through Marjory Dean she had secured the services of a great teacher. For some time after that she had devoted her entire time to the mastering of the technique of Grand Opera and to the business of developing her voice.
“You will not go far without study abroad,” Marjory Dean had warned her. “Yet, who knows but that some golden opportunity may come to you? You have a voice, thin to be sure, but very clear and well placed. What is still more, you have a feeling for things. You are capable of inspiring your audience with feelings of love, hate, hope, despair. This will carry you far.”
“And I shall work! Oh, how I shall work!” Jeanne had replied.
That had been months ago. But teachers must be paid. Jeanne’s pocketful of money no longer weighed her down. Then, too, times were hard. The little French girl could make people feel the things she did on the stage because she, too, had a warm heart. She could not resist wandering from time to time into the tenement districts where dwelt her gypsy friends. There she found poverty and great need. Always she came away with an empty purse. On Maxwell Street it was no better.