Chapter 76
Rue raised her troubled eyes:
"Has it occurred to you that _they_ might think you capable of redrawing parts of the stolen plans from memory?"
"It had never occurred to me," he admitted, surprised. "But I believe I could remember a little about one or two of the more general maps."
"The Princess means to ask you, tomorrow, to draw for her what you can remember. And that made me think about you now--whether the _others_ might not suspect you capable of remembering enough to do them harm.... And so--do you think it prudent to go out tonight?"
"Yes," he replied, quite sincerely, "it is all right. You see I know Paris very well."
She did not look convinced, but Sengoun came up and she bade them both good night and went away with the Princess Mistchenka.
As, arm in arm, the two young men sauntered around the corner of the rue Soleil d'Or, two men who had been sitting on a marble bench beside the sun-dial fountain rose and strolled after them.
CHAPTER x.x.x
JARDIN RUSSE
At midnight the two young men had not yet parted. For, as Sengoun explained, the hour for parting was already past, and it was too late to consider it now. And Neeland thought so, too, what with the laughter and the music, and the soft night breezes to counsel folly, and the city's haunting brilliancy stretching away in bewitching perspectives still unexplored.
From every fairy lamp the l.u.s.trous capital signalled to youth her invitation, her challenge, and her menace. Like some jewelled sorceress--some dreaming Circe by the river bank, pondering new spells--so Paris lay in all her mystery and beauty under the July stars.
Sengoun, his arm through Neeland's, had become affectionately confidential. He explained that he really was a nocturnal creature; that now he had completely waked up; that his habits were due to a pa.s.sion for astronomy, and that the stars he had discovered at odd hours of the early morning were more amazing than any celestial bodies ever before identified.
But Neeland, whose head and heart were already occupied, declined to study any constellations; and they drifted through the bluish l.u.s.tre of white arc-lights and the cl.u.s.tered yellow glare of incandescent lamps toward a splash of iridescent glory among the chestnut trees,
The waiters were in Russian peasant dress; the orchestra was Russian gipsy; the bill of fare was Russian; and there was only champagne to be had.
Balalaika orchestra and spectators were singing some evidently familiar song--one of those rus.h.i.+ng, clattering, clas.h.i.+ng choruses of the Steppes; and Sengoun sang too, with all his might, when he and Neeland were seated, which was thirsty work.
Two fascinating Russian gipsy girls were dancing--slim, tawny, supple creatures in their scarlet and their jingling bangles. After a deafening storm of applause, their flas.h.i.+ng smiles swept the audience, and, linking arms, they sauntered off between the tables under the trees.
"I wish to dance," remarked Sengoun. "My legs will kick over something if I don't."
They were playing an American dance--a sort of skating step; people rose; couple after couple took the floor; and Sengoun looked around for a partner. He discovered no eligible partner likely to favour him without a quarrel with her escort; and he was debating with Neeland whether a row would be worth while, when the gipsy girls sauntered by.
"Oh," he said gaily, "a pretty Tzigane can save my life if she will!"
And the girls laughed and Sengoun led one of them out at a reckless pace.
The other smiled and looked at Neeland, and, seating herself, leaned on the table watching the whirl on the floor.
"Don't you dance?" she asked, with a sidelong glance out of her splendid black eyes.
"Yes; but I'm likely to do most of my dancing on your pretty feet."
"_Merci!_ In that case I prefer a cigarette."
She selected one from his case, lighted it, folded her arms on the table, and continued to gaze at the dancers.
"I'm tired tonight," she remarked.
"You dance beautifully."
"Thank you."
Sengoun, flushed and satisfied, came back with his gipsy partner when the music ceased.
"Now I hope we may have some more singing!" he exclaimed, as they seated themselves and a waiter filled their great, bubble-shaped gla.s.ses.
And he did sing at the top of his delightful voice when the balalaikas swept out into a ringing and familiar song, and the two gipsy girls sang, too--laughed and sang, holding the frosty goblets high in the sparkling light.
It was evident to Neeland that the song was a favourite one with Russians. Sengoun was quite overcome; they all touched goblets.
"Brava, my little Tziganes!" he said with happy emotion. "My little compatriots! My little tawny panthers of the Caucasus! What do you call yourselves in this bandbox of a country where two steps backward take you across any frontier?"
His dancing partner laughed till her sequins jingled from throat to ankle:
"They call us Fifi and Nini," she replied. "Ask yourself why!"
"For example," added the other girl, "we rise from this table and thank you. There is nothing further. _C'est fini--c'est Fifi--Nini--comprenez-vous, Prince Erlik?_"
"Hi! What?" exclaimed Sengoun. "I'm known, it appears, even to that devilish name of mine!"
Everybody laughed.
"After all," he said, more soberly, "it's a gipsy's trade to know everybody and everything. _Tiens!_" He slapped a goldpiece on the table. "A kiss apiece against a louis that you don't know my comrade's name and nation!"
The girl called Nini laughed:
"We're quite willing to kiss you, Prince Erlik, but a _louis d'or_ is not a copper penny. And your comrade is American and his name is Tchames."
"James!" exclaimed Sengoun.
"I said so--Tchames."
"What else?"
"Nilan."
"Neeland?"
"I said so."
Sengoun placed the goldpiece in Nini's hand and looked at Neeland with an uncomfortable laugh.