“My opportunity,” she thought now, as, sitting before the glowing fire, she contemplated the future, “appears to be a bed in jail. But who knows?”
Jeanne refused to be depressed. Casting off her dressing gown, she sprang away in a wild dance as she chanted:
“Now I am Pierre,
Now I am Jeanne.
To-night I sleep on eiderdown,
To-morrow I am in jail.
“Oh, sweet mystery of life.”
Her voice rang out high and clear. Then, like the flash of sunshine across the brow of a hill, her mood changed.
“To-morrow!” she exclaimed, dropping into the depths of a great chair by the fire. “Why think of to-morrow? See! The tea kettle sings for us. Why not one good cup of black tea? And then—sweet dreams.”
A moment later there was a clinking of thin china cups. A belated midnight lunch was served.