“He has probably gone to hide his diminished head in the cellar, or perhaps he is refreshing himself at the sideboard,” cried an Austrian.
“He’s a regular Danube peasant” (Archag recognized the voice of another Armenian boy), “and I can’t understand Nejib’s inviting him here. Did you hear what a noise he made when he was drinking? Just like a dog, licking his dish.”
“Aren’t you ashamed?” cried Winnie. “If Nejib were here he would soon teach you how to behave. Do you mean to say you have forgotten that this Danube peasant, as you call him, saved Nejib’s life? He is a fine boy, and my father and mother love him dearly. When I look at him I can’t help thinking that but for him I shouldn’t have my brother any more, and it’s easy enough to forget his small defects in the way of training.”
“You are right,” said Mademoiselle Maréchal, “but he ought not to have asked me to dance when he didn’t know how, himself.”
“You know,” retorted the Armenian boy, “that Monsieur is as proud as a pasha; he thinks he knows it all, and when he goes back to Van he will probably go around boasting about what a success he was in society. Since Nejib is under obligations to him, he might better have given him some sort of present; the poor lad feels entirely out of place here, and is sighing for his goats and their stable.”
“That isn’t true!” cried Winnie again. “Baron Archag is modest and shy, but he is very happy here. Only yesterday he was thanking mamma in such a touching way, it brought tears to my eyes.”
“Since he pleases you so much, I’m sorry he didn’t dance with you,” replied Mademoiselle Maréchal, pursing her lips.
“He must have had nerve to ask you. No doubt if he could have executed the sword dance or some other wild man’s antics, he would have done himself proud; but he was a big fool to try the polka, a dance of civilized people!”
Archag had restrained himself until now: but this last insult of the other Armenian boy was too much for him, and brushing aside the foliage which had hidden him, he came forward to face his adversary. Only his black eyes, darker than usual, and his quivering nostrils, betrayed his emotion.
“I believe you are right,” said he. “I am no good at these complicated European dances; luckily I can still do the sword dance that you scorn so, as our heroes used to dance it before engaging in battle. I am going to dance it for you, but I shall not invite Mademoiselle Maréchal to take part in it.”