Æsop hesitated for a moment. It evidently went against his grain to
oblige Peyrolles--or, for that matter, any man, in anything; but in this
instance to oblige served his own turn. He rose, and, passing the door of
the Inn, crossed the space of common land to where the caravan stood, a
deserted monument of green and red.
The hunchback tapped at the door and whispered through the lock: "Are you
there, Flora?"
A woman's voice answered from within--a young voice, a sweet voice, a
slightly impatient voice. "Yes," it said.
"Come out," Æsop commanded, curtly.
Then the gaudy door of the caravan yielded, and a pretty gypsy girt
appeared in the opening. She was dark-haired, she was bright-eyed, she
was warmly colored. She seemed to be about eighteen years of age, but her
figure already had a rich Spanish fulness and her carriage was swaying
and voluptuous. Most men would have been glad enough to stand for a while
in adoration of so pleasing a picture, but Æsop was not as most men. His
attitude to women when they concerned him personally was not of
adoration. In this case the girl did not concern him personally, and he
had no interest in her youth or her charms save in so far as they might
serve the business he had in hand.
The girl looked at him with a little frown, and spoke with a little note
of fretfulness in her voice: "So you have come at last. I have been so
tired of waiting for you, mewed up in there."
Æsop answered her, roughly: "That's my business. Here is a gentleman who
wants to speak with you."
As he spoke he beckoned to Peyrolles, who rose from his seat and moved
with what he considered to be dignity towards the pair, making great play
of cane, great play of handkerchief, great play of jewelled-hilted sword
flapping against neatly stockinged leg.
He saluted the gypsy in what he conceived to be the grand manner. "Can
you tell fortunes, pretty one?"
The gypsy laughed, and showed good teeth as she did so. "Surely, on the
palm or with the cards--all ways."
"Can you tell your own fortune?" Peyrolles questioned, with a faint tinge
of malice in the words.
Flora laughed again, and answered, unhesitatingly: "To dance my way
through the world, to enjoy myself as much as I can in the sunshine, to
please pretty gentlemen, to have money to spend, to wear fine clothes and
do nice things and enjoy myself, to laugh often and cry little. That is
my fortune, I hope."
Peyrolles shook his head and looked very wise. "Perhaps I can tell you a
better fortune."
Flora was impressed by the manner of the grand gentleman, for to her he
seemed a grand gentleman. "Tell me, quick!" she entreated.
Peyrolles condescended to explain: "Seventeen years ago a girl of noble
birth, one year old, was stolen from her mother and given to gypsies."
Flora, listening, counted on her fingers: "Seventeen, one, eighteen--why,
just my age."