“Surprise number one,” she murmured. “A white lady living in Chinatown. I can’t be wrong, for just over there is the temple where I saw the magic curtain.” If other evidence were lacking, she had only to glance at the pedestrians on the street. Nine out of every ten were Chinese.
For a moment she stood quite still upon the curb. Perhaps her experience on that other occasion had inspired an unwarranted fear.
“For shame!” She stamped her small foot. “This is broad day! Why be afraid?”
Surprise number two came to her upon arriving at the gate of the place she sought. No dingy tenement this. The cutest little house, set at the back of a tiny square of green grass, flanked a curious rock garden where water sparkled. The whole affair seemed to have been lifted quite complete from some Chinese fairy book.
“It’s the wrong address.” Her spirits drooped a little.
But no. One bang at the gong that hung just outside the door, and the little old lady herself was peeping through a narrow crack.
“Oh! It is you!” she exclaimed, throwing the door wide. “And you have my cameo!”
“Yes,” Jeanne smiled, “I have your cameo.”
Because she was French, Jeanne was not at all disturbed by the smothering caress she received from the old lady of this most curious house.
The next moment she was inside the house and sinking deep in a great heap of silky, downy pillows.