“Because she called out in English: ‘Help! Save me!’ I heard the words distinctly, and started to run after the droshky. Wouldn’t you have done the same in my place? I guess you’re just the sort of man who’d be first to help beauty in distress!”
This was sarcasm and sheer insolence. I couldn’t help it, he looked such a brutal little beast! But he took it as a compliment, and actually bowed and smirked, twirling his mustache and leering at me like a satyr.
“You have read me aright, Monsieur,” he said quite amiably. “So this lady was beautiful?”
“Well, I can’t say. I didn’t really see her; the droshky drove off the very instant she called out. One of the horses had been down, and I was standing to look at it,” I explained, responding diplomatically to his more friendly mood. I wanted to get clear as soon as possible, for I knew that every moment was precious. “I just saw a hat and some dark hair—”
“Dark, eh? Should you know her again?”
“I guess not. I tell you I didn’t really see her face.”
“How could she know you were an American?”
I shrugged my shoulders.
“Perhaps she can’t speak any language but English.”
“What is this?” He held up the handkerchief, and sniffed at it. It was faintly perfumed. How well I knew that perfume, sweet and elusive as the scent of flowers on a rainy day.