"He was close pressed by the police," the "lady cop" explained. "It was his one chance. And he lost; which was right enough."
"And now," came in a polite tone from the corner, "if I may have a word with Pet.i.te Jeanne?" It was the little Frenchman. "But where is she? I do not see her."
"Meg," said Jeanne imploringly, "have you a dress to loan me?"
"Sure have!"
They disappeared.
Five minutes later Jeanne reappeared in a blue calico dress.
"I am Pet.i.te Jeanne." She bowed low to the little Frenchman.
"Ah, yes! So you are. Then it is my pleasure to announce that you are sole heir to a great castle in France. It is known as "_Le Neuf Chateau_." But it is truly very old and carries with it a broad estate."
"A castle!" Jeanne seemed undecided whether to shout or weep. "A great castle for poor little me?"
"Ah, my child," the Frenchman put in quickly, "it will not be necessary--it is quite unnecessary for you to reside there. Indeed, at this moment it is rented, for an unheard of rental, to a rich American who fancies castles and is fond of following the hounds."
"Then," exclaimed Jeanne, "I shall accept! I shall return to my beautiful Paris. And there, forever and ever, I shall study for the opera. Is it not so, Marjory Dean?
"And you, all of you, shall come to Paris as my guests."
"Yes, yes, on some bright summer"s day," the great prima donna agreed.
That night--or shall we say morning?--Pet.i.te Jeanne arranged "Pierre"s"
carefully pressed dress suit upon a hanger and hung it deep in the shadows of her closet. "Good-bye Pierre," she whispered. "You brought me fear and sorrow, hope, romance, a better understanding of life, and, after that, a brief moment of triumph. I wonder if it is to be farewell forever or only adieu for to-day."
And now, my reader, it is time to draw the magic curtain. And what of that curtain? Up to this moment you know quite as much as I do. It was used in but one performance of the opera that bears its name. It was then withdrawn by its owner. Not, however, until a stage-property curtain, produced with the aid of tiny copper wires, strips of asbestos and colored ribbons, had been created to take its place. The secret of the original magic curtain is still locked in the breast of its oriental creator.
The dark-faced one has not, so far as I know, been apprehended. Perhaps he fled to another city and has there met his just fate. Why he haunted the trail of the page of the opera, Pierre, is known to him alone, and the doer of dark deeds seldom talks.
And so the story ends. But what of the days that were to follow? Did that little company indeed journey all the way to Paris? And did they find mystery and great adventure in Jeanne"s vast castle? Did Jeanne tire of studying opera "forever and ever" and did she return to America? Or did our old friend, Florence, forgetting her blonde companion of many mysteries, go forth with others to seek adventure? If you wish these questions answered you must read our next volume, which is to be known as: _Hour of Enchantment_.