“And on this night of all nights!” She was ready to weep.
It was a very meek Pierre who at last stood before the great director.
“Are you Pierre?” His tone was not harsh. She began to hope a little.
“I am Pierre.”
“This man—” The director turned to one in the shadows. Jeanne caught her breath. It was the great sculptor, Fernando Tiffin.
“This man,” the director repeated, after she had recovered from her surprise, “tells me that you know the score of this new opera, ‘The Magic Curtain.’”
“Y-yes. Yes, I do.” What was this? Her heart throbbed painfully.
“And that of the ‘Juggler of Notre Dame.’”
“I—I do.” This time more boldly.
“Surely this can be no crime,” she told herself.