by Roy J. Snell
CHAPTER XXI FROM THE HEIGHTS TO DESPAIR
"To-day," said Marjory Dean, as they came out upon the dimly lightedstage, "as you will see," she glanced about her where the setting of aFrench village was to be seen "we are to rehearse 'The Juggler of NotreDame.' And to-day, if you have the courage, you may play the juggler inmy stead."
"Oh!" Jeanne's breath came short and quick. Her wild heartbeats ofanticipation had not been in vain.
"But the company!" she exclaimed in a low whisper. "Shall they know?"
"They will not be told. Many will guess that something unusual ishappening. But they all are good sports. And besides they are all ofmy--what is it you have called it?--my 'Golden Circle.'"
"Yes, yes, your 'Golden Circle.'"
"And those of our 'Golden Circle' never betray us. It is an unwrittenlaw."
"Ah!" Jeanne breathed deeply. "Can I do it?"
"Certainly you can. And perhaps, on the very next night when the'Juggler' is done--oh, well, you know."
"Yes. I know." Jeanne was fairly choking with emotion.
When, however, half an hour later, garbed as the juggler with his hoopand his bag of tricks, she came before the troop of French villagers ofthe drama, she was her own calm self. For once again as in a dream, shetrod the streets of a beautiful French village. As of yore she dancedbefore the boisterous village throng.
Only now, instead of stick and bear, she danced with hoop and bag.
She was conscious at once that the members of the company realized thatshe was a stranger and not Marjory Dean.
"But I shall show them how a child of France may play her native drama."At once she lost herself in the character of Jean, the wandering-juggler.
Eagerly she offered to do tricks with cup and balls, to remove eggs froma hat.
Scorned by the throng, she did not despair.
"I know the hoop dance."
The children of the troop seized her by the hands to drag her about. AndJeanne, the lithe Jeanne who had so often enthralled thousands by herfairy-like steps, danced clumsily as the juggler must, then allowedherself to be abused by the children until she could break away.
"What a glorious company!" she was thinking in the back of her mind. "Howthey play up to me!"
"My lords," she cried when once more she was free, "to please you I'llsing a fine love salvation song."
They paid her no heed. As the juggler she did not despair.
As Jeanne, she saw a movement in a seat close to the opera pit. "Anauditor!" Her heart sank. "What if it is someone who suspects and willgive me away!" There was scant time for these thoughts.
As the juggler she offered songs of battle, songs of conquest, drama. Toall this they cried:
"No! No! Give us rather a drinking song!"
At last yielding to their demand she sang: "Hallelujah, Sing theHallelujah of Wine."
Then as the prior descended upon the throng, scattering them like tinybirds before a gale, she stood there alone, defenseless, as the priordenounced her.
Real tears were in her eyes as she began her farewell to the gloriousliberty of hedge and field, river, road and forest of France.
This farewell was destined to end unfinished for suddenly a great bassvoice roared:
"What is this? You are not Marjory Dean! Where is she? What are you doinghere?"
A huge man with a fierce black mustache stood towering above her. Sherecognized in him the director of the opera, and wished that the sectionof the stage beneath her feet might sink, carrying her from sight.
"Here I am," came in a clear, cold tone. It was Marjory Dean who spoke.She advanced toward the middle of the stage.
Riveted to their places, the members of the company stood aghast. Fullwell they knew the fire that lay ever smouldering in Marjory Dean'sbreast.
"And what does this mean? Why are you not rehearsing your part?"
"Because," Miss Dean replied evenly, "I chose to allow another, who cando it quite as well, to rehearse with the company."
"And I suppose," there was bitter sarcasm in the director's voice, "shewill sing the part when that night comes?"
"And if she did?"
"Then, Miss Dean, your services would no longer be required." The man waspurple with rage.
"Very well." Marjory Dean's face went white. "We may as well--"
But Petite Jeanne was at her side. "Miss Dean, you do not know what youare saying. It is not worth the cost. Please, please!" she pleaded withtears in her voice. "Please forget me. At best I am only a little Frenchwanderer. And you, you are the great Marjory Dean!"
Reading the anguish in her upturned face, Marjory Dean's anger was turnedto compassion.
"Another time, another place," she murmured. "I shall never forget you!"
Half an hour later the rehearsal was begun once more. This time MarjoryDean was in the stellar role. It was a dead rehearsal. All the sparkle ofit was gone. But it was a rehearsal all the same, and the director hadhad his way.