Part 88 (1/2)

Toward the Boulevard below, a line of police and of cavalrymen blocked the rue Vilna; and, beyond them, the last of the mob was being driven from the Cafe des Bulgars, where the first ambulances were arriving and the police, guarding the ruins, were already looking out of windows on the upper floors.

A cavalryman came clattering down the rue Vilna, gesticulating and calling out to Sengoun and Neeland to take their ladies and depart.

”Get us a taxicab--there's a good fellow!” cried Sengoun in high spirits; and the cavalryman, looking at their dishevelled attire, laughed and nodded as he rode ahead of them down the rue Vilna.

There were several taxicabs on the Boulevard, their drivers staring up at the wrecked cafe. As Neeland spoke to the driver of one of the cabs, Ilse Dumont stepped back beside the silent girl whom she had locked in the bedroom.

”I gave _you_ a chance,” she said under her breath. ”What may I expect from you? Answer me quickly!--What am I to expect?”

The girl seemed dazed:

”N-nothing,” she stammered. ”The--the horror of that place--the killing--has sickened me. I--I want to go home----”

”You do not intend to denounce me?”

”No--Oh, G.o.d! No!”

”Is that the truth? If you are lying to me it means my death.”

The girl gazed at her in horror; tears sprang to her eyes:

”I couldn't--I couldn't!” she stammered in a choking voice. ”I've never before seen death--never seen how it came--how men die!

This--this killing is horrible, revolting!” She had laid one trembling little hand on Ilse Dumont's bare shoulder. ”I don't want to have you killed; the idea of death makes me ill! I'm going home--that is all I ask for--to go home----”

She dropped her pretty head and began to sob hysterically, standing there under the growing daylight of the Boulevard, in her tattered evening gown.

Suddenly Ilse Dumont threw both arms around her and kissed the feverish, tear-wet face:

”You weren't meant for this!” she whispered. ”You do it for money. Go home. Do anything else for wages--anything except this!--_Anything_, I tell you----”

Neeland's hand touched her arm:

”I have a cab. Are you going home with her?”

”I dare not,” she said.

”Then will you take this Russian girl to her home, Sengoun?” he asked.

And added in a low voice: ”She is one of your own people, you know.”

”All right,” said Sengoun blissfully. ”I'd take the devil home if you asked me! Besides, I can talk to her about my regiment on the way.

That will be wonderful, Neeland! That will be quite wonderful! I can talk to her in Russian about my regiment all the way home!”

He laughed and looked at his friend, at Ilse Dumont, at the drooping figure he was to take under his escort. He glanced down at his own ragged attire where he stood hatless, collarless, one sleeve of his evening coat ripped open to the shoulder.

”Isn't it wonderful!” he cried, bursting out into uncontrollable laughter. ”Neeland, my dear comrade, this has been the most delightfully wonderful night of my entire life! But the great miracle is still to come! Hurrah for a thousand lances! Hurrah! Town taken by Prince Erlik! Hurrah!”

And he seized the young girl whom he was to escort to her home--wherever that hazy locality might be--and carried her in his arms to the taxicab, amid encouraging shouts of laughter from the line of cavalrymen who had been watching the proceedings from the corner of the rue Vilna.