The two gypsies gazed at one another in silence.
The small, picturesque figure in the doorway wore velveteen trousers of
green, old and faded, a black jacket rusty, with the sleeves patched,
and a scarlet sash tied loosely about the waist. On the back of her
cropped yellow curls was a velveteen cap, rakishly tipped, and she
stood debonair beneath the folds of the curtain with a laugh on her
lips.
"Mon Dieu!" she cried, "How you stare, Monsieur! Will I do? What sort
of a boy do I make; all right? Are you satisfied, sir?"
She made a little rush forward, eluding Velasco, and stopped before the
mirror with her hands boyishly deep in her pockets, glancing back over
her shoulder and pirouetting slowly backwards and forwards.
"The hair looks a little rough!" she exclaimed, "I cut it with a pair
of shears, or perhaps it was a razor, who knows! Ma foi! It is not
like a girl's at all, so short! What my maid would say! You would
never take me for a Countess now, would you--would you?" She patted
her curls and pulled down her jacket in front, turning first to one
side, then to the other. "What a nice pair of gypsies we make, sir,
eh? Come and look at yourself. You are taller than I, and bigger, and
you have such shoulders, heavens! Mine are not half the size. You
mustn't bully me, you know, not if I am a boy. You took the best
jacket, the biggest, and look what I have--such a little one, only
patches and rags! And see what boots!"
She held out one slim, small foot in a peasant's boot and inspected it,
pointing to the sole with little exclamations of horror. "I took the
only ones I could find, and see--" Then she looked at him coaxingly
with her eyes half veiled by her lashes, sideways, as if afraid of his
gaze.
"Do I make a nice boy, Monsieur, tell me? Am I just like a gypsey, the
real ones? Is it right, do you think?" She faltered.
Velasco took a step forward and looked down at the reflection in the
mirror, the profile averted, the flush on her cheek, the curls on her
brow, the boyish swagger and the hands in the pockets, the cap on the
back of the tilted head, the laughing eyes, half veiled. He towered
above her, gazing. And presently her eyes crept up to his under the
lashes and they met in the mirror. She drew slowly away.
"How little you are!" he cried, "You never seemed so little before; in
a cloak, in a veil, you were tall. And now, stand still, let me
measure. Your cap just reaches my shoulder. Kaya--"
She gave a gay little laugh and held her back against his. "How you
cheat!" she cried, "No--your heels on the floor, sir--there, now! Back
to back, can you see in the mirror? Where do I come?"
The two stood motionless for a moment, their shoulders touching,
peering eagerly sideways into the glass.
"Kaya, you are standing on tiptoe!"
"No--it is you."
"Kaya! You rogue!"
She gave a little cry, laughing out like a child caught in mischief,
springing away. "I must practise being a boy," she exclaimed, "What is
it you do? It is so different from being a Countess. One feels so
free. No heels, no train, no veil! When one is used to the boots it
must be heaven. If my cap would only stay on!"
She began to roam over the room, taking boyish strides, puckering her
lips in a whistle; her thumbs in her vest and her head thrown back.
"There, now, that is it; I feel better already, quite like a man. It
is charming, Monsieur; a little more practice--"
Velasco was following her about with the cap in his hands. "Step
softly, Kaya, step softly," he said, "Stand still. Let me put it on
for you."
"No--no, toss it over."
With a little spring the girl swung herself on the table edge,
balancing and swinging her feet; looking up at him from under her
lashes and laughing.
"Shall I make a good comrade, Monsieur Velasco? What do you think?"
He leaned over the table towards her. His eyes were bright and eager,
searching her face, the dimples that came and went in her cheeks, her
soft, white throat, bare under the collarless jacket; the lips parted,
and red, and arched; the rings of her hair, shining like gold.
"Kaya," he whispered hoarsely, "I never saw you like this before. My
little comrade, my friend, my-- We will tramp together, you and I--all
the way to the frontier. They will never suspect us, never! The
Stradivarius shall earn our bread, and if you are ill, or weary, I will
carry you in my arms. In the market-places I will play for the
peasants to dance, and you--you, Kaya--ah, what will you do?"
He laughed softly to himself and began teasing her, half gayly, half
tenderly, with his face close to hers, the sleeve of his jacket
brushing her arm.
"What will you do, Kaya? Look at me! Your cheek is red like a rose;
your eyes are like stars. Don't turn them away. Lift the fringe of
those lashes and look at me, Kaya. Will you pass the cap for the
pennies?--You will have to doff it because you are a boy; and you must
do something because you are a gypsey. Will you pass the cap for the
peasants to pay?"
He held the velveteen cap in his hands, playing with it, caressing it,
watching her. "Look at me, Kaya!"
She flushed and drew back, her heart beating in little throbs under the
vest. Suddenly she turned and looked at him squarely. It was strange,
whenever their eyes met, like a thrill, a shock, an ecstasy; and then a
slow returning to consciousness as after a blow.
All at once, she drooped her lashes and began to trill, softly,
faintly, like a bird, the tones clear, and sweet, and high; and as she
sang, she glanced at him under her lashes, with her head on one side.
The voice pulsed and grew in her throat, swelling out; then she
softened it quickly with a look over her shoulder, half fearfully, and
again it soared to a high note, trilling, lingering and dropping at
last.
Her mouth scarcely opened. The sound seemed to come through the arch
of her lips, every note pure, and sweet, and soft like a breath.
Velasco bent over entranced.
"How you sing!" he cried, "Like some beautiful bird! In Italy, on the
shores of the lakes, I have heard the nightingales sing like that; but
never a woman. The timbre is crystal and pure, like clear, running
water. When you soar to the heights, it is like a lark flying; and
when you drop into alt, it is a tone that forces the tears to one's
eyes, so pathetic and strange. Who taught you, Kaya? Who taught you
to sing like that? Or were you born so with a voice alive in your
throat; you had only to open it and let it come out?"
She shook her head, swinging her feet, trying to laugh.
"It is so small," she said wistfully. "You are a musician, Monsieur
Velasco, and I--I know nothing of music. No--I will pass the cap for
pennies. Give it to me. Is it getting late, must we go?"
She took the cap and put it on her head, on the back of her curls,
avoiding his eyes. "Will that do for a gypsey? Is it
straight--Velasco?" She said the name quite low and breathed
hurriedly, with a flush on her cheeks.
He was still staring at her, but he said nothing; he made no motion and
she drew away from him a little frightened.
"You are like a violin," he murmured, "I told you you were like a
violin. You are all music, as I am music. We will make music
together--Kaya. Sing for me again, just open your lips and
breathe--once more! Let me hear you trill?"
"I can't," said the girl. "I am faint, Velasco. When I look at you
now there is a mist before my eyes. The room sways." She put out her
hands suddenly, as if to steady herself.
Velasco started back: "Good heavens, Kaya, what is the matter? The
colour has gone from your cheeks; there are shadows under your eyes,
deep and heavy as though they were painted. Don't faint, will you?
Don't! I shouldn't know what under heaven to do!"
The girl slipped down from the table and, staggering a little, threw
herself into the chair by the fire-place. "Get me some food, Velasco;
some bread, some wine. In a moment it will pass!" She began laughing
again immediately. "Don't be frightened. It is you who are pale, not
I. Just a morsel to eat--Velasco. Since last night I have eaten
nothing. You forget how hungry a boy can be! Is there time?"
Velasco had snatched the red wine from the table and was pouring it out
in a glass, holding it to her lips.
"Drink, Kaya, drink--and here are biscuits, shall I break them for you?
Don't speak. Shut your eyes, and drink, and eat. I will feed you."
He hovered over her with little exclamations of pity and self-reproach.
"Why didn't I see at once you were starving! Poor child, poor little
one! You seemed so gay, dancing about; your cheeks were so red and
now--Ah no, it is better--the colour is coming back slowly. The wine
brings a flush."
The girl lay back with her eyes closed, sipping the wine from the glass
as he held it. "Is there plenty of time, Velasco?" she said faintly.
He looked at the hands of the malachite clock on the mantel. They
pointed to ten and presently it began to strike.
"Yes--yes." he whispered, "Lie still. Let me feed you. We will go
presently."
"What was that on the stairway?" she said, "Was it a noise?--I thought
I heard something."
She opened her eyes and started up; and with the sudden movement, the
glass in her hand tipped and spilled over. "It is nothing," she said,
"It fell on my hand. I will wipe it away."
Velasco laughed. "Your hand!" he cried, "Your hand is a rose leaf, so
soft and so white. The wine has stained it with a blotch. How
strange! It is red, it is crimson--a spot like blood."
The girl blanched suddenly and fell back with a cry.
"Not blood, Velasco! Wipe it off! Take it away! Not blood! Oh, take
it away!"
Her eyes stared down at the blotch on her hand. They were frightened,
dilated, and her whole body quivered in the chair. "Velasco--take it
away!"
He put down the glass and took the small, white hand in his own,
brushing it gently with the sleeve of his jacket. "There now," he
said, "it is gone. It was only a drop of wine. Hush--hush! See,
there is no blood, Kaya, I never meant there was blood. Don't scream
again!"
"It's the Cross!" she cried, "the curse of the Black Cross! Ah,
go--leave me! I am a murderess! I shot him, Velasco, I shot him! I
fulfilled the vow, the oath of the order. But now--oh God! I am
cursed! Not blood--not blood!"
She was struggling to her feet.
"_Without weakness, without hesitation, or mercy_. I did it!
Velasco--I did it!"
She fell back into the chair again, sobbing, murmuring to herself.
"Not blood--no--not blood!"
"That is over and past," said Velasco, "Don't think of it, Kaya. Be a
boy, a man, not weak like a woman. Eat the rest of the bread."
The girl took the bread from his hand.
"Finish the wine."
He held the glass to her lips until she had drained it; and then she
began to laugh a little unsteadily.
"You are right," she said, "a boy doesn't--weep. I must be strong, a
good comrade." She dashed the tears from her eyes and looked up at him
pathetically, smiling with lips that still quivered. "It is over," she
said, "I am--I have--you know; but it is over! I will forget it.
Sometimes I can forget it if I try; then I shut my eyes at night and I
see him before me, on his face with his arms outstretched--still and
strange. The blood is trickling a stream on the floor! I hear the
shot--I--"
"Be still, Kaya, hush! Don't speak of it; forget it! Hush!"
She began to laugh again: "See, I am your comrade, light-hearted and
gay as a gypsey should be. Already--I have forgotten! What a couple
of tramps we are, you and I! Just look at your boots!"
"And your faded old jacket!"
"And your scarf, Velasco!"
"And your velveteen cap!"
They laughed out together, and then they stopped suddenly and listened.
"Was it anything?"
"No, I think not."
"Are you sure?"
Velasco leaned towards her and their fingers touched for a moment. She
drew them away.
"Shall we go; is it time?"
"Not yet," said Velasco, "not yet! Your lips are so sweet, they are
arched like a bow; they quiver like a string when one plays on it.
Kiss me, Kaya."
She pressed him back with her hands outstretched, her palms against his
coat. "We must go," she whispered, "They will track us, Monsieur. I
am frightened."
"Kaya, kiss me."
Their eyes met and drew closer, gazing intently, the dark and the blue.
"Don't touch me," she said faintly. "We are two boys together. You
must forget that I am a girl. Can you forget?"
"No," said Velasco. "You were charming before, but you are
irresistible now, in that velveteen jacket and scarf, with the curls on
your brow. When you look at me so, with your head on one side, and
your eyes half veiled, and the flush on your cheeks, you are sweet--I
love you! Kiss me."
He pressed forward closely, his eyes still on hers; but she held him
back with her hands, trembling a little.
"Velasco," she whispered, "Listen! I trust you. You are stronger than
I; your wrists are like steel, but--I trust you. See--I trust you."
She took down her hands from his shoulders and folded them proudly over
her breast, gazing up at him.
"How strange your eyes are," said Velasco, "like two pools in the
twilight; one could drown in their depths. You are there behind the
blue, Kaya. Your spirit looks out at me, brave and dauntless. When
you sob, you are like a child; when you look at me under the veil of
your lashes and your heart beats fast, you are a woman. And now--you
are--what are you, Kaya? A young knight watching beside his shield!"
He hesitated, and passed his hand over his brows, and looked at her
again; then he moved away slowly and began to lay the things in his
knapsack. "They are all boys' things," he said, "but you are a boy;
they will do for you too."
"Yes," she said.
He laughed a little unsteadily. "There is money in my belt; now the
knapsack is ready, my violin--and that is all. It is nearly eleven.
Come--Kaya."
He turned his head away without looking at her; he approached the door
slowly. The girl sat still in the chair.
"Are you coming?"
There was silence; then he turned on his heel, and went back to her,
and laid his hand on her shoulder. "Kaya," he said, whispering as if
someone could hear, "Are you afraid? Why are you afraid to come with
me, dear brother musician, dear comrade?" His voice broke. "I will
take care of you. You said you would trust me, Kaya."
The girl clasped his arm with a cry: "I am not afraid for myself," she
said, "but for you--you, Velasco. Leave me before it is too late.
There is time for the train, just time. I implore you to go!"
She trembled and raised her eyes to his. "If anything should happen,
and you suffered for me, I couldn't bear it. Leave me--Velasco!"
He put out his hand and took hers, crushing it in his own strength. He
did not speak but he drew her forward, and she followed him dumbly,
quietly, without resistance; her head drooping, the cap on the back of
her yellow curls; the lashes hiding her eyes, fringing her cheek.
He took the Stradivarius under his arm. The door closed and they
started out, hesitating, looking back over their shoulders; stealing
down the stairs like two frightened children hand in hand.