"Sit down, Monsieur," she said, picking up her French again."Iforgive you.I do more; I admire.I see that your freak had nothing behind it but mischief.No woman need fear a man who colors when his country is made the subject of a jest."All his anger evaporated.This was an invitation, and he accepted it.He resumed his seat.
"The truth is, as I remarked, I was lonesome.I know that I have committed a transgression, but the veil tempted me.""It is of no matter.A few moments, and you will be gone.I am waiting for some one.You may talk till that person comes." Her voice was now in its natural tone; and he was convinced that if her face were half as sweet, she must possess rare beauty."Hush!"as the band began to breathe forth Chopin's polonaise.They listened until the music ceased.
"Ah !" said he rapturously, "the polonaise! When you hear it, does there not recur to you some dream of bygone happy hours, the sibilant murmur of fragrant night winds through the crisp foliage, the faint call of Diana's horn from the woodlands, moon-fairies dancing on the spider-webs, the glint of the dew on the roses, the far-off music of the surges tossing impotently on the sands, the forgetfulness of time and place and care, and not a cloud 'twixt you and the heavens? Ah, the polonaise!""Surely you must be a poet!" declared the Veil, when this panegyric was done.
"No," said he modestly, "I never was quite poor enough for that exalted position." He had recovered his good humor.
"Indeed, you begin to interest me.What is your occupation when not in search of--comic operas?""I serve Ananias."
"Ananias?" A pause."Ah, you are a diplomat?""How clever of you to guess."
"Yours is a careless country," observed the Veil.
"Careless?" mystified.
"Yes, to send forth her green and salad youth.Eh, bien! There are hopes for you.If you live you will grow old; you will become bald and reserved; you will not speak to strangers, to while away an idle hour; for permit me, Monsieur, who am wise, to tell you that it is a dangerous practice.""And do I look so very young?"
"Your beard is that of a boy."
"David slew Goliath."
"At least you have a ready tongue," laughing.
"And you told me that I had been a soldier."But to this she had nothing to say.
"I am older than you think, Mademoiselle of the Veil.I have been a soldier; I have seen hard service, too.Mine is no cushion sword.Youth? 'Tis a virtue, not a crime; and, besides, it is an excellent disguise."For some time she remained pensive.
"You are thinking of something, Mademoiselle.""Do you like adventure?"
"I subsist on it."
"You have been a soldier; you are, then, familiar with the use of arms?""They tell me so," modestly.What was coming?
"I have some influence.May I trust you?""On my honor," puzzled, yet eager.
"There may be a comic opera, as you call it.War is not so impossible as to be laughed at.The dove may fly away and the ravens come.""Who in thunder might this woman be?" he thought.
"And," went on the Veil, "an extra saber might be used.Give me your address, in case I should find it necessary to send for you."Now Maurice was a wary youth.Under ordinary circumstances he would have given a fictitious address to this strange sybil with the prophecy of war; for he had accosted her only in the spirit of fun.But here was the key which he had been seeking, the key to all that had brought him to Bleiberg.Intrigue, adventure, or whatever it was, and to whatever end, he plunged into it.He drew out a card case, selected a card on which he wrote "Room 12, Continental," and passed it over the table.She read it, and slipped it into her purse.
Maurice thought: "Who wouldn't join the army with such recruiting officers?"While the pantomime took place, a man pushed by Maurice's chair and crossed over to the table recently occupied by him.He sat down, lit a short pipe, rested his feet on the lowest rung of the ladder-like railing, and contemplated the western hills, which by now were enveloped in moon mists.Neither Maurice nor his mysterious vis-a-vis remarked him.Indeed, his broad back afforded but small attraction.And if he puffed his pipe fiercely, nobody cared, since the breeze carried the smoke waterward.
After putting the card into her purse, Mademoiselle of the Veil's gaze once more wandered toward the entrance, and this time it grew fixed.Maurice naturally followed it, and he saw a tall soldier in fatigue dress elbowing his way through the crush.
Many moved aside for him; those in uniform saluted.
