But what of Petite Jeanne? Had she, arriving at the door, missed her companion and gone back into the building? Or, over-anxious for Florence’s safety, had she, too, gone into the street and been trapped? She had done neither. Yet adventure of quite another sort had come leaping at her.

Fascinated, as always, by the thought of that great opera stage at the end of the hall, and feeling that she had a few moments to spare, she had gone tiptoeing down the hall. She had found the door open and was preparing to look in upon the stage when a sidewise and backward glance gave her a severe shock. Standing not three paces behind her was a man. With arms stretched, he was approaching silently as one does who hopes to catch some creature off guard.
261

Striving in vain to still the beating of her heart, for she had recognized in this man the enemy she had made during the “battle of Maxwell Street,” Jeanne took one step out upon the opera stage. Then, realizing at a glance what was going on there, she played a bold hand. Turning half about, she hissed: “Dare to come one step nearer and I shall scream. Do you hear? The opera is in progress. The company is on the stage. I shall scream. And then—”

She did not finish. There was no need.

A performance of Grand Opera was truly in progress at that very instant. Through a thin wall of trees and shrubs painted on canvas, came a peculiar light, a transparent blue that suggested birds, flowers and springtime.

Even as the girl’s lips closed there came a burst of song from the front of the stage where, hidden by the partition, there were many singers.

Licking his lips like a tiger prepared to spring the man crouched, then moved a step forward.
262

“I’ll scream!” Petite Jeanne spoke aloud.

The sound of her voice was drowned by the chorus on the stage.

A scream would not be drowned. The man knew that well enough. But did she dare scream? This was the question at the back of the man’s shrewd but narrow mind.

She had said she would scream. To do this would be to invite a panic. A girl’s scream coming from back-stage during a dramatic moment of a Grand Opera performance could mean something little short of murder.

And yet the man, standing there irresolute, read in her eyes the answer: she would scream.

She looked down for an instant. When she lifted her eyes, he was gone. And the Grand Opera performance went on.

But now what? She dared not retrace her steps. The man would be lurking there.

Dashing across the back of the stage, she seized the handle of a door. It came open noiselessly. She passed through ............