Part 78 (2/2)

”Perfectly,” said Nini, smiling. ”One drinks good beer there.”

”Munich beer,” added Fifi.

”Then it is watched?” asked Neeland.

”All German cafes are watched. Otherwise, it is not suspected.”

Sengoun, who had been listening, shook his head. ”There's nothing to interest us at the Cafe des Bulgars,” he said. Then he summoned a waiter and pointed tragically at the empty goblets.

CHAPTER x.x.xI

THE CAFe DES BULGARS

Their adieux to Fifi and Nini were elaborate and complicated by bursts of laughter. The Tziganes recommended Captain Sengoun to go home and seek further adventures on his pillow; and had it not been for the gay babble of the fountain and the persistent perfume of flowers, he might have followed their advice.

It was after the two young men had left the Jardin Russe that Captain Sengoun positively but affectionately refused to relinquish possession of Neeland's arm.

”Dear friend,” he explained, ”I am just waking up and I do not wish to go to bed for days and days.”

”But I do,” returned Neeland, laughing. ”Where do you want to go now, Prince Erlik?”

The champagne was singing loudly in the Cossack's handsome head; the distant brilliancy beyond the Place de la Concorde riveted his roving eyes.

”Over there,” he said joyously. ”Listen, old fellow, I'll teach you the skating step as we cross the Place! Then, in the first _Bal_, you shall try it on the fairest form since Helen fell and Troy burned--or Troy fell and Helen burned--it's all the same, old fellow--what you call fifty-fifty, eh?”

Neeland tried to free his arm--to excuse himself; two policemen laughed; but Sengoun, linking his arm more firmly in Neeland's, crossed the Place in a series of Dutch rolls and outer edges, in which Neeland was compelled to join. The Russian was as light and graceful on his feet as one of the dancers of his own country; Neeland's knowledge of skating aided his own less agile steps. There was sympathetic applause from pa.s.sing taxis and _fiacres_; and they might, apparently, have had any number of fair partners for the asking, along the way, except for Sengoun's headlong dive toward the brightest of the boulevard lights beyond.

In the rue Royal, however, Sengoun desisted with sudden access of dignity, remarking that such gambols were not worthy of the best traditions of his Emba.s.sy; and he attempted to bribe the drivers of a couple of hansom cabs to permit him and his comrade to take the reins and race to the Arc de Triomphe.

Failing in this, he became profusely autobiographical, informing Neeland of his birth, education, aims, aspirations.

”When I was twelve,” he said, ”I had known already the happiness of the battle-shock against Kurd, Mongol, and Tartar. At eighteen my ambition was to slap the faces of three human monsters. I told everybody that I was making arrangements to do this, and I started for Brusa after my first monster--Fehim Effendi--but the Vali telegraphed to the Grand Vizier, and the Grand Vizier ran to Abdul the d.a.m.ned, and Abdul yelled for Sir Nicholas O'Connor; and they caught me in the Pera Palace and handed me over to my Emba.s.sy.”

Neeland shouted with laughter:

”Who were the other monsters?” he asked.

”The other two whose countenances I desired to slap? Oh, one was Abdul Houda, the Sultan's star-reader, who chattered about my Dark Star horoscope in the Yildiz. And the other was the Sultan.”

”Who?”

”Abdul Hamid.”

”What? You wished to slap _his_ face?”

”Certainly. But Kutchuk Sad and Kiamil Pasha requested me not to--accompanied by gendarmes.”

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