"What a place for mystery!" Jeanne exclaimed.
"Yes, and listen! Do you hear it?"
"Hear what?"
"The river. We are far below the river. Listen. Do you not hear it flowing?"
"I hear only the rumble of traffic."
"Perhaps I only imagine it, but always when I visit this place I seem to hear the river rushing by. And always I think, "What if the walls should crumble?""
"But they will not crumble."
"We shall hope not.
"But see." The rich girl"s mood changed. "Here is a charger! Let us mount and ride!"
She sprang toward a tall object completely covered by a white cloth. When the cloth had been dragged off, a great steed all clad in glittering armor stood before them.
"Come!" Rosemary"s voice rose high. "Here we are! You are a brave knight.
I am a defenseless lady. Give me your hand. Help me to mount behind you.
Then I will cling to you while we ride through some deep, dark forest where there are dragons and cross-bowmen and all sorts of terrifying perils."
Joining her in this spirit of make-believe, Jeanne a.s.sisted her to the back of the inanimate charger.
Having touched some secret b.u.t.ton, Rosemary set the charger in motion.
They were riding now. Swaying from side to side, rising, falling, they seemed indeed to be pa.s.sing through some dark and doleful place. As Jeanne closed her eyes the illusion became quite complete. As she felt Rosemary clinging to her as she might cling to some gallant knight, she forgot for the time that she was Pet.i.te Jeanne and that she had suffered a dire disappointment.
"I am Pierre!" she whispered to herself. "I am a brave knight. Rosemary loves me."
The disquieting effect of this last thought awakened her to the realities of life. Perhaps, after all, Rosemary did love her a little as Pierre. If this were true--
Sliding off the steed, then lifting Rosemary to the floor, she exclaimed:
"Come! Over yonder is a castle. Let us see who is at home over there."
Soon enough she was to see.
The castle was, as all stage castles are, a mere sh.e.l.l; very beautiful and grand on the outside, a hollow echo within. For all that, the two youthful adventurers found a certain joy in visiting that castle. There was a rough stairway leading up through great empty s.p.a.ces within to a broad, iron-railed balcony. From this balcony, on more than one night, an opera lover had leaned forth to sing songs of high enchantment, luring forth a hidden lover.
They climbed the stairs. Then Pet.i.te Jeanne, caught by the spell of the place, leaned far out of the window and burst into song, a wild gypsy serenade.
Rosemary was leaning back among the rafters, drinking in the sweet mystery of life that was all about her, when of a sudden the French girl"s song broke off. Her face went white for an instant as she swayed there and must surely have fallen had not Rosemary caught her.
"Wha--what is it?" she whispered hoa.r.s.ely.
For a s.p.a.ce of seconds there came no answer, then a low whisper:
"Those eyes! I saw them. Those evil eyes. Back of the mountain. They glared at me."
"Eyes?"
"The dark-faced man. He--he frightens me! The way out! We must find it!"
Roused by her companion"s fears, Rosemary led the way on tiptoe down the stairs. Still in silence they crossed the broad emptiness of the castle, came to a rear door, tried it, felt it yield to their touch, and pa.s.sed through, only to hear the intruder come racing down the stairs.
"He--he did not see us!" Rosemary panted. "For now we are safe.
This--come this way!"
She crowded her way between a stairway lying upon its side and a property porch. Jeanne, whose heart was beating a tattoo against her ribs, followed in silence.
"What a brave knight I am!" she told herself, and smiled in spite of her deathly fears.
"The way out," Rosemary whispered over her shoulder. "If I only can find that!"
A sound, from somewhere behind, startled them into renewed effort.
Pa.s.sing through a low forest of property trees, they crossed a narrow bare s.p.a.ce to find themselves confronted by a more formidable forest of chairs and tables. Chairs of all sorts, with feet on the floor or high in air, blocked their way.
As Rosemary attempted to creep between two great piles, one of these toppled to the floor with a resounding crash.
"Come!" Her tone was near despair. "We must find the way out!"
As for Jeanne, she was rapidly regaining her composure. This was not the only time she had been lost in an Opera House. The Paris Opera had once held her a prisoner.
"Yes, yes. The way out!" She took the lead. "I think I see a light, a tiny red light."
For a second she hesitated. What was this light? Was it held in the hand of the unwelcome stranger? Was it an "Exit" light?
"It"s the way out!" she exulted. A quick turn, a sharp cry and she went crashing forward. Some object had lain in her path. She had stumbled upon it in the dark.
What was it? This did not matter. All that mattered were Rosemary and the way out.
Where was Rosemary? Leaping to her feet, she glanced wildly about. A move from behind demoralized her. One more wild dash and she was beneath that red light. Before her was a door. And at that door, pressing the k.n.o.b, was Rosemary.
Next instant they had crowded through that door.
But where were they? Narrow walls hemmed them in on every side.
"It"s a trap!" Rosemary moaned.
Not so Jeanne. She pressed a b.u.t.ton. They were in a French elevator. They went up.
Up, up they glided. The light of a door came, then faded, then another and yet another.
In consternation lest they crash at the top, Jeanne pressed a second b.u.t.ton. They came to a sudden halt. A light shone above them. A second, slower upward glide and they were before still another door. The door swung open. Still filled with wild panic, they rushed into a room where all was dark, and lost themselves in a perfect labyrinth where costumes by hundreds hung in rows.
Crowded together, shoulder to shoulder, with scarcely room to breathe, they stood there panting, waiting, listening.