pleted and he could live happy ever after, upon the earnings of Madame .…
Stroking her hair, he smiled superior upon Carmelita.
"A clever thought, my little one," he murmured, "and bravely meant, but your Luigi's days are numbered. Would that proud, cold aristocratico eat the words he shouted before half the Company? No! He will leave the girl to shift for herself."
Carmelita's face fell.
"Do not say so," she begged. "No! No! He would not do that. You know how these English treat women. You know the sort of man this Jean Boule is," and for a moment, involuntarily, Carmelita contrasted her Luigi with Il Signor Jean Boule in the matter of their chivalry and honour, and ere she could thrust the thought from her mind, she had realised the comparison to be unfavourable to her lover.
"Luigi," she said, "I feel it in my heart that, since the Englishman has said that he will save his mistress, he will do it at any cost whatsoever to himself.… Go, dearest Luigi, go now, and I will send to him, and say I must see him at once. He will surely come, thinking that I send on behalf of this Russian fool."
And with a last vehement embrace and burning kiss, she thrust him before her into the bar and watched him out of the Café.
Le Légionnaire Jean Boule was not among the score or so of Legionaries who sat drinking at the little tables, nor were either of his friends. Whom could she send? Was that funny English ribaldo, Légionnaire Erbiggin, there? … No.… Ah!—There sat the poor Grasshopper. He would do. She made her way
