And, sooth to say, Cecil was not sorry when the ladies did retire, for Margarita, either to please and amuse herself, or to tease and anger Guebhard, had addressed the whole, or nearly the whole, of her conversation to him, though it ran chiefly on the progress of the war.
Lying or half-reclining on a divan, with a rummer of raki and water at hand, a cigar between his lips, and his cunning almond-shaped eyes half-closed, though they glittered brightly, Guebhard, after some remarks about Margarita and her singing, to all of which Cecil listened silently, said:
'She is a dazzling girl—don't you think so?'
Cordially, Cecil admitted she was so.
'I wonder blood has not been shed about her long ere this!' he exclaimed, in a curiously suave yet vicious tone.
'Bah!' said Cecil, 'people don't fight duels nowadays.'
'In your cold-blooded country, perhaps,' was the quietly scornful interruption.
'And we shall have daily blood enough spilt in other ways,' continued Cecil, without heeding him.
Guebhard drained his rummer, refilled it, and was not long in thinking of something else offensive to say, and gave each long, black, lanky moustache a vigorous twist, as if he gathered courage from the performance.
'You have not been idle while here, apparently, Herr Lieutenant,' said he, with one of his curious smiles, while carefully selecting a cigar from his case and proffering Cecil one.