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
glasses.
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.
"I ought to know a gipsy, but they always astonish me, these Tziganes.
Tell us some more, Nini----" He beckoned a waiter and pointed
indignantly at the empty goblets.