Only one thought saved Jeanne from a scream that would have betrayed her; not a soul in that impassive throng had moved or spoken. It was borne in upon her that here was some form of magic which she did not know.
“It’s a magic curtain.” These words, formed by her lips were not so much as whispered.
But now from a dark corner of the stage a figure appeared. A weird stooping figure he was, clothed all in white. He moved toward the curtain with slow, halting steps. He seemed desirous of passing between the folds of the curtain before the opening; yet a great fear appeared to hold him back.
At this moment there came to Jeanne’s mind words from a very ancient book:
“Draw not nigh hither. Put off thy shoes from thy feet.”
“The burning bush!” she whispered. “It burned but was not consumed; a magic bush. This is a magic curtain.”
“Remove thy shoes.”
She seemed to hear someone repeat these words.
Her hands went to her feet. They were fully clad. A quick glance to right and left assured her that not another person in the room wore shoes.
“My shoes will betray me!” Consternation seized her. One look backward, a stealthy creeping toward the soft-carpeted stair, another stealthy move and she was on her way out.