“Mostly they call me the one-eyed shrimp.”
Pocketing the money, he walked away.
“This, too,” said the bearded one solemnly, “is a form of life.”
“But why such cruel, cruel contrasts?” In her mind’s eye Jeanne was seeing jewels, silks and furs. There were tears in her voice.
“To that question no answer has been found,” the bearded man answered solemnly. “The world is very old. It has always been so. Perhaps it is necessary. It gives contrast. Lights and shadows. We must have them or nothing could be seen.
“I am a sculptor, a very poor one, but one nevertheless. Perhaps you may visit my studio. There you will find things I have done in lovely white marble, yet the beauty of the marble can only be brought out by shadows.
“Come! You are cold.” He turned Jeanne about. “We will go back to the Opera House. Always we must be going back.”
Strange as it may seem, Jeanne did not wish to return. That magnificent palace of art and song had suddenly become abhorrent to her.
“The contrasts,” she murmured, “they are too great!”
“Yes. There you have discovered a great truth. Come to my studio some day. I will show you more.” The bearded one pressed a card into her hand. Without looking at it, she thrust it deep into her trousers pocket.