Throwing back her chest, the little French girl, who for a moment was Pierre, drank in three deep breaths, then uttered a long-drawn:
"This," said Rosemary, extending her hand as she might had she been leaving a party, "has been delightful. So perfectly wonderful. Let's do it again sometime.
"One more thing!" She whispered this. "They have never found my pearls. But it really does not matter, at least not very much. What are pearls among friends?"
Before Petite Jeanne could recover from her surprise she was gone.
"I suppose," she sighed as she turned to go on her way, "that some people have many terrible adventures and want none, and some have none but want many. What a crazy, upside-down world this is, after all."
She was well on her way home when a question, coming into her mind with the force of a blow, left her stunned.
"Why did Rosemary say: 'The pearls have not been found. It does not matter?'
"Does she believe I took the pearls?" she asked herself, when she had partially recovered her poise. "And was she telling me I might keep them?
"And, after all, how could she help believing that I took them? I ran away. There has been no explanation. Unless--unless she knows that I am Petite Jeanne and not Pierre! And how could she know?"
That night as, once more playing the role of Pierre, she entered the boxes, she found Jaeger, the detective, in his place. And, lurking deep in the shadows was the lady in black. She shuddered anew.
That night, by the light of a fickle moon that ever and anon hid himself behind a cloud, Florence made her way alone to the shores of that curious island of "made land" on the lake front. She had determined to delve more deeply into the mysteries of this island. On this night she was destined to make an astonishing discovery.
It was not a promising place to wander, this island. There, when the moon hid his face, darkness reigned supreme.
Yet, even at such times as these, she was not afraid. Strong as a man, endowed with more than the average man's courage, she dared many things. There were problems regarding that island which needed solving. She meant to solve them. Besides, the place was gloriously peaceful, and Florence loved peace.
She did not, however, love peace alone. She yearned for all manner of excitement. Most of all she was enchanted by sudden contrast. One moment: silence, the moon, the stars, placid waters, peace; the next: a sound of alarm, darkness, the onrush of adventure and unsolved mystery. This, for Florence, was abundance of life.