Part 35 (1/2)
”Madame John”--bowing--”I am your neighbor, Kristian Koppig.”
Madame John bows low, and smiles--a ball-room smile, but is frightened, and her escort,--the manager,--drops her hand and slips away.
”Ah! Monsieur,” she whispers excitedly, ”you will be killed if you stay here a moment. Are you armed? No. Take this.” She tried to slip a dirk into his hands, but he would not have it.
”Oh, my dear young man, go! Go quickly!” she plead, glancing furtively down the hall.
”I wish you not to dance,” said the young man.
”I have danced already; I am going home. Come; be quick! we will go together.” She thrust her arm through his, and they hastened into the street. When a square had been pa.s.sed there came a sound of men running behind them.
”Run, Monsieur, run!” she cried, trying to drag him; but Monsieur Dutchman would not.
”_Run,_ Monsieur! Oh, my G.o.d! it is 'Sieur”--
”_That_ for yesterday!” cried the manager, striking fiercely with his cane. Kristian Koppig's fist rolled him in the dirt.
”_That_ for 't.i.te Poulette!” cried another man dealing the Dutchman a terrible blow from behind.
”And _that_ for me!” hissed a third, thrusting at him with something bright.
”_That_ for yesterday!” screamed the manager, bounding like a tiger; ”That!” ”THAT!” ”Ha!”
Then Kristian Koppig knew that he was stabbed.
”That!” and ”That!” and ”That!” and the poor Dutchman struck wildly here and there, grasped the air, shut his eyes, staggered, reeled, fell, rose half up, fell again for good, and they were kicking him and jumping on him. All at once they scampered. Zalli had found the night-watch.
”Buz-z-z-z!” went a rattle. ”Buz-z-z-z!” went another.
”Pick him up.”
”Is he alive?”
”Can't tell; hold him steady; lead the way, misses.”
”He's bleeding all over my breeches.”
”This way--here--around this corner.”
”This way now--only two squares more.”
”Here we are.”
”Rap-rap-rap!” on the old bra.s.s knocker. Curses on the narrow wicket, more on the dark archway, more still on the twisting stairs.
Up at last and into the room.
”Easy, easy, push this under his head: never mind his boots!”
So he lies--on 't.i.te Poulette's own bed.
The watch are gone. They pause under the corner lamp to count profits;--a single bill--_Banque de la Louisiane_, fifty dollars.