But we Tziganes know. We have known for five thousand years that Erlik
hung aloft, followed by ten black moons. Ask your astronomers. But we
Tziganes knew this before there ever were astronomers!
Therefore, go home to your own land, monsieur. The Prince of Hell is
in the heavens. The Yellow Devil shall see the Golden Horn again.
Empires shall totter and fall. Little American, stand from under.
Adieu! We Tziganes wish you well--Fifi and Nini of the Jardin Russe.
"Adieu, beau jeune homme! And--to her whom you shall take with
you--homage, good wishes, good augury, and adieux!"
* * * * *
"'To her whom you shall take with you,'" he repeated, looking at Rue
Carew.
The girl blushed furiously and bent her head, and her slender fingers
grew desperately busy with her handkerchief.
Neeland, as nervous as she, fumbled with the seal of the remaining
letter, managed finally to break it, glanced at the writing, then
laughed and read:
* * * * *
My dear Comrade Neeland: I get my thousand lances! Congratulate me! Were you much battered by
that canaille last night? I laugh until I nearly burst when I think
of that absurd bousculade!
That girl I took with me is all right. I'm going to Petrograd! I'm
going on the first opportunity by way of Switzerland.
What happiness, Neeland! No more towns for me, except those I take. No
more politics, no more diplomacy! I shall have a thousand lances to do
my talking for me. Hurrah!
Neeland, I love you as a brother. Come to the East with me. You shall
make a splendid trooper! Not, of course, a Terek Cossack. A Cossack is
God's work. A Terek Cossack is born, not made.
But, good heavens! There is other most excellent cavalry in the world,
I hope! Come with me to Russia. Say that you will come, my dear
comrade Neeland, and I promise you we shall amuse ourselves when the
world's dance begins---
* * * * *
"Oh!" breathed the girl, exasperated. "Sengoun is a fool!"
Neeland looked up quickly from his letter; then his face altered, and
he rose; but Rue Carew was already on her feet; and she had lost most
of her colour--and her presence of mind, too, it seemed, for Neeland's
arms were half around her, and her hands were against his shoulders.
Neither of them spoke; and he was already amazed and rather scared at
his own incredible daring--already terribly afraid of this slender,
fragrant creature who stood rigid and silent within the circle of his
arm, her head lowered, her little, resisting hands pressed
convulsively against his breast.
And after a long time the pressure against his breast slowly relaxed;
her restless fingers moved nervously against his shoulders, picked at
the lapels of his coat, clung there as he drew her head against his
breast.