"'Carmen,'" she cried, reproachfully, with a glance at me, "you who should have led the way still hesitate," and she extended the case, and carefully lighted the cigarette for me from her own.
"And you, monsieur," with a glance at the man who had been her companion from the ballroom.
"It was a privilege I had never anticipated, and so came unprepared."
"Then she who grants permission supplies the means of enjoyment. Take two, or three, or four, or what you will; their fragrance may be even greater in the morning."
There was an intonation in the last words that struck me with a sense of hidden meaning, and as the man carelessly took several, and, after lighting one, slipped the remainder into his pocket, the truth burst upon me in a flash—the key to the cipher had been passed.
On each cigarette paper was the key. I held it between my fingers half consumed, and those around were obligingly burning the others before her eyes, save for that man whom I knew still had three in his possession. What a thoughtless fool I had been, I who held all I needed in my grasp had myself destroyed it. The cigarette had burned down to my fingers. I was compelled to drop it, and he trod it to dust beneath his foot.
But he still had three. With an abandon worthy of "Carmen" herself I turned my fascinations upon him; with a swift glance at Gaspard, who instantly comprehended, I sent him to the side of the Countess, and she, nothing loath to be the centre of a group of admirers, elated because her mission was over, encouraged them, and kept them from her with the arts of one born to coquetry.
The saints be praised, all men are young—or, at least, feel they are—when a pretty woman smiles upon them. He was what a diplomat would have called middle-aged, but—saints be praised—I am a pretty woman.
"You are the incarnation of 'Carmen' herself," he whispered, as we found ourselves excluded from the group surrounding the Countess.
"Merci, monsieur, you flatter me—it is the dress attracts you."