Part 76 (2/2)
”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.
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