“Ce marloupatte pâle et mince
Se nommait simplement Navet,
Mais il vivait ainsi qu’un prince,
Il aimait les femmes qu’on rince.
Tu comprends? Mais moi, je ne suis pas une femme qu’on rince.”
It was certainly improbable, Sylvia thought, that the croupier had understood much of Richepin’s verse, but the effect of the little recitation was excellent because it made him choke. Lily now intervened, and when Sylvia beheld her soothing the inarticulate Camacho by stroking his head, she abandoned the last faint inclination to break off this match and called upon the priest to marry them at once. No doubt the priest would have been willing to begin the ceremony if he had been able to understand a word of what Sylvia said, but he evidently thought she was appealing to him against Camacho’s violence, and with a view to affording the ultimate assistance of which he was capable he crossed himself and turned up his eyes to heaven.
“What an awful noise there is!” Sylvia cried, and, looking round her with a sudden realization of its volume, she perceived that the negress in the doorway had been reinforced by what was presumably the cook—another negress who was joining in her fellow-servant’s protestations. At the same time the priest was talking incessantly in rapid Portuguese; Camacho was probably swearing in the same language; and Lily was making a noise that was exactly half-way between a dove cooing and an ostler grooming a horse.
“Look here, Mr. Camacho,” Sylvia began.
“Oh, don’t speak to him, Sylvia,” Lily implored. “He can’t be spoken to when he’s like this. It’s a kind of illness, really.”
Sylvia paid no attention to her, but continued to address the croupier.
“If you’ll listen to me, Mr. Camacho, instead of behaving like an exasperated toy terrier, you’ll find that we both want the same thing.”
“You shall not have her,” the croupier chattered. “I will shoot everybody before you shall have her.”
“I don’t want her,” Sylvia screamed. “I’ve come here to be a bridesmaid or a godmother or any other human accessory to a wedding you like to mention. Take her, my dear man, she’s yours.”