“Oh, damn the green roses!” growled Twelves. “Here, waiter, another bottle, quick!”
She glanced at him from the tail of her eye, and then immediately became absorbed in the performance of a tall angular girl who, with exquisite art, was singing a rapid French song full of diablerie. She had no looks, no voice, and no figure; but she had personality, genius. Silence had fallen upon the drinkers, and every one listened and watched; only the waiters, more than ever like bats, moved swiftly about, bearing absinthe and vermouth on purple trays. The singer exhaled a charm that diffused itself about the room; suddenly, she ceased singing, made a faint gesture, threw a kiss to the audience, and vanished. Immediately there was a great shouting and a stamping of feet.
“It is always like that,” complained Zuleika, pouting. “The men love her. Why? She is ugly and she is all bones and skin: Ugh! It makes me sick to see so ugly a woman driving the men mad.”
But the third bottle of champagne caught her eye, and she burst into a laugh.
“See,” she said, pointing to the roses, now pink, that surrounded the bottle, “see my passion is—what do you call it?—rising—yes, rising!”
In proof thereof, she threw her arm lightly round Twelves’ neck and kissed him behind the ear. He paled with desire. As for me, I turned a little to one side and made a pretence of studying the audience. The next thing I was aware of, they were both leaning over the table, their heads together, whispering. She was smiling, cunning and triumphant, whilst his face wore an expression of irritation and baffled desire.
“Come on, waiter, damn you!” he called, “another bottle and another. Yes—two! Blood-roses round the first, and round the second green. And that,” he added, “makes five.”
“Yes, five. One, two, three, four, five,” she counted on her fingers. “It is enough.”
And in due course the two fresh bottles appeared. The bucket containing the blood-red roses was placed in front of Zuleika: that containing the green before Twelves. When the waiter had opened both bottles, Zuleika ordered him to take one to the neighbouring table for “the Maestro.”
“You seem to be very fond of your brother,” observed Twelves, “but it is strange he should be willing to drink a whole bottle of wine paid for by a complete stranger.”