Part 50 (1/2)
”Then tell me, who is she just pa.s.sing?”
”The one whose clothing is so--so--as if she would pose for the--”
”Hush, Julie. The one in white and gold.”
”I asked if it were she. Yes, I know her very well, for I saw a gentleman unmask her on the balcony above there, to kiss her. It is she who dances so wonderfully at the Opera Comique. You have seen her, Mademoiselle Fee. Ah, come. Let us dance. It is the most perfect waltz.”
At the close of the waltz the owl came and took the little gypsy away from Robert, and a moment later he heard the mellifluous voice of his companion of the banquet.
”I am so weary, monsieur. Take me away where we may refresh ourselves.”
The red-brown eyes looked pleadingly into his, and the slender fingers rested on his arm, and together they wandered to a corner of palms where he seated her and brought her cool wine jelly and other confections. She thanked him sweetly, and, drooping, she rested her head upon her hand and her arm on the arm of her chair.
”So dull they are, these fetes, and the people--bah! They are dull to the point of despair.”
She was a dream of gold and white as she sat there--the red-gold hair and the red-brown eyes, and the soft gold and white draperies, too clinging, as the little gypsy had indicated, but beautiful as a gold and white lily. He sat beside her and gazed on her dreamily, but in a manner too detached. She was not pleased, and she sighed.
”Take the refreshment, mademoiselle; you will feel better. I will bring you wine. What will you have?”
”Oh, you men, who always think that to eat and drink something alone can refres.h.!.+ Have you never a sadness?”
”Very often, mademoiselle.”
”Then what do you do?”
”I eat and drink, mademoiselle. Try it.”
”Oh, you strange man from the cold north! You make me s.h.i.+ver. Touch my hand. See? You have made me cold.”
”Cold? You are a flame from the crown of gold on your head to your shoes of gold.”
”Now that you are become a success, monsieur, what will you do? To you is given the heart's desire.” She toyed with the quivering jelly, merely tasting it. It too was golden in hue, and golden lights danced in the heart of it.
”A great success? I am dreaming. It is so new to me that I do not believe it.”
”You are very clever, monsieur. You never tell your thoughts. I asked if you remembered me and you answered in a riddle. I knew you did not, for you never saw me before.”
”Did I never see you dance?”
”Ah, there you are again! To see me dance--in a great audience--one of many? That does not count. You but pretended.”
He leaned forward, looking steadily in her eyes. ”Did I but pretend when I said I never could forget you? Ah, mademoiselle, you are too modest.”
She was maddened that she could not pique him to a more ardent manner, but gave no sign by so much as the quiver of an eyelid. She only turned her profile toward him indifferently. He noticed the piquant line of her lips and chin and throat, and the golden tones of her delicate skin.
”Did I not also tell you the truth when you asked me? And you rewarded me by calling me ba.n.a.l.”
”And I was right. You, who are so clever, could think of something better to say.” She gave him a quick glance, and placed a quivering morsel of jelly between her lips. ”But you are so very strange to me.
Tell me, were you never in love?”
”That is a question I may not answer.” He still smiled, but it was merely the continuation of the smile he had worn before she shot that last arrow. He still looked in her eyes, but she knew he was not seeing her. Then he rallied and laughed. ”Come, question for question.