No fairy princess, waving magic wand, could have wrought a more perfect change than came over Petite Jeanne and her beloved companions after that hour which the rather ugly Jew with the soul of an Abraham, a Moses and a David all wrapped in one, spent in their studio. It was by this man that they were guided out of the wilderness of doubt and despair into the land of joy and hope. By him, too, they were, on the very next morning, ushered into the most magnificent little theatre Jeanne’s glowing eyes had ever looked upon.

Unlike the Old Blackmoore, it was new. Its bright colors shone gayly forth. Its seats of velvet, its curtains of heavy velour and all its trimmings were perfect.

“How beautiful!” Jeanne exclaimed, as Solomon threw open the door revealing it all.
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“And yet,” she sighed after a time, “poor, shabby old Blackmoore! I did so want to hear its walls ring once more with laughter and applause.”

“Nonsense!” exclaimed the good Solomon. “When a place is full of rats it should be torn down. Why do people live in such places—work in them, play in them? Is it not because they themselves are slow, stupid, without the will to tear themselves away from it all?

“At any rate,” he added quickly, “here is your grand opportunity. Make the most of it, my child.”

“Oh, yes. That I will. Yes! Yes! Yes! A thousand, million times, yes!”

And did she? Never had there been a time in her whole life when she worked so hard as on the days that followed. No director with a gray steel face was here; no brass rail where she must twist her toes in agony; no Eve, lacking in imagination, endeavoring to teach where she herself should be taught. Yet there were compelling forces driving her on. Love, friendship, hope, the determination to win; these are the great, beautiful masters that ever lead us on to nobler and stronger lives.
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Success was not assured. Far from that. The Junior Ballet was, after all, little more than an advanced class in a great school. Chosen from the best of young dancers, they were constantly in training so that in some dim, distant time they might perhaps take their place by ones, twos and threes in the ballet of some great opera company. Beautiful they were, to be sure. Grace was theirs, too. But seasoned troupers they were not. For this reason there would not be the snap and precision in their dancing that could be found in a modern chorus. Would youth and natural beauty replace this? Even Solomon wrinkled his brow when the question was asked.

“They will!” Jeanne clenched her hands hard. “They must!”

This was her great opportunity. Still more important, it was Dan Baker’s opportunity.

“I have youth. I have time to win success,” she assured herself. “But for him it is now. Now, or not at all.”
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Whenever she thought of this she threw herself with renewed zest into her work.

The light opera, too, was found to be crude and unfinished in spots. What opera is not? Solomon suggested changes. They were made.

Then one day, after they had been working for a week, a beautiful creature entered from another world. She came sauntering down a narrow corridor which Jeanne had seen leading away from the left side of the stage but had ne............