In silence they returned to the Opera House. Once inside, Jeanne experienced a miracle. The dark, cold, bitter world outside had vanished. In her mind, for the moment, not a trace of it remained. For her, now, there was only light and life, melody, color—romance in fact, and opera at its best.
CHAPTER XXVI
AN EXCITING MESSAGE
Petite Jeanne was a sun-worshipper and a fire-worshipper of the best sort. She worshipped the One Who created fire and Who sends us light to dispel the gloom of night. The day following her unusual experiences in the lower regions of the Opera House found her curled up in a big chair. The chair stood before a large window of their living room. Here she was completely flooded with light. On bright days, for a space of two hours, the sunlight always succeeded in finding its way through the labyrinth of chimneys and skyscrapers, to fall like a benediction upon this blonde-haired girl. And Jeanne rejoiced in it as a kitten does the warm spot before the hearth.
“It’s God looking down upon His world,” she murmured now.
“Jeanne,” Florence stood in the door of her room, “did that man, the dark-faced one with the evil eye, did he have a scar on his chin?”
“Y-e-s. Let me see.” She closed her eyes to invite a picture. It came. “Yes, now I see him as I did only yesterday. Yes, there was a scar.”
“You saw him yesterday?”
Reluctantly Jeanne turned her face from the sunlight. “I’ll tell you about it. It was exciting, and—and a bit terrible. What can he want?”
She told Florence about the previous day’s adventure. “But why did you ask about the scar?” It was her turn to ask questions.
“I was out at the island last night. You’d never dream of the discovery I made there. But then, you’ve never seen Aunt Bobby—probably not so much as heard of her.”