for their litre and their tasse—and Carmelita rose and went to the door of the Café de la Légion and looked down the street toward the Place Sadi Carnot. One of three passing Chasseurs d'Afrique made a remark, the import of which was not lost on the Italian girl though the man spoke in Paris slum argot.
"If Monsieur would but give himself the trouble to step inside and sit down for a moment," said Carmelita in Legion-French, "Monsieur's question shall be answered by Luigi Rivoli of La Légion. Also he will remove Monsieur's pretty uniform and scarlet ceinturon and will do for Monsieur what Monsieur's mamma evidently neglected to do for Monsieur when Monsieur was a dirty little boy in the gutter. … Monsieur will not come in as he suggested? Monsieur will not wait a minute? No? Monsieur is a very wise young gentleman. …"
An Arab Spahi swaggered past and leered.
"Sabeshad zareefeh chattaha," said he, "saada atinee."
"Roh! Imshi!" hissed Carmelita and Carmelita's hand went to her pocket in a significant manner, and Carmelita spat.
A Greek ice-cream seller lingered and ogled.
"Bros!" snapped Carmelita with a jerk of her thumb in the direction in which the young person should be going.
A huge Turco, with a vast beard, brought his rolling swagger to a halt at her door and made to enter.
"Destour!" said the tiny Carmelita to the giant, pointed to the street and stared him unwaveringly in the eye until, grinning sheepishly, he turned and went.
Carmelita did not like Turcos in general, and detested this one in particular. He was too fond of coming when he knew the Café to be empty of Légionnaires.
