“But he failed, princess,” I continued suavely, “because, at the moment when he thought to snatch it from me, he tripped and fell down the stairs on top of our fat old cook, Advotia, who beat him with a skillet of soup, so that the noble gentleman not only lost the locket, but was baptized in good broth.”
She had listened with an effort at dignified reserve, but at this conclusion to my narrative she began to laugh a little, and at the sound of the merriment behind the portière, she, too, gave way to hers, and laughed as gaily as Lissa; the duenna meanwhile—to whom my French was as so much Greek—looked from one to the other in puzzled silence, her black eyes keenly alert and her wrinkled face as grave as a judge’s.
“I am sorry you lost your soup, monsieur,” said the princess, still laughing softly, “and for me, too!”
“I would lose much more—and peril much—for the sake of the Princess Daria,” I replied gallantly, forgetting my rôle of apprentice.
She flashed a quick look at me and blushed and smiled, for, with all her hauteur, she seemed to have the simplicity of a child. But the chaperon was not so well pleased, and she made a cautious movement of warning, touching the princess’ robe, and the young girl, blushing still more deeply, recollected her dignity, and taking a purse from the old woman’s hand, she turned to pay for the locket. This part of the transaction had never entered my thoughts, and as it flashed upon me my face burned, and I motioned the money away; retreating toward the door. It was now her turn to be embarrassed; she drew back the purse and looked at me, a picture of pretty confusion.
“But, monsieur,” she said, “cannot take the work as a gift. I must pay for the locket.”
“There is nothing to pay,” I retorted brusquely, as red as fire; “the labour was nothing.”
“But there was the soup, monsieur,” she said, a mischievous gleam in her eyes.
“That went to M. Kurakin,” I replied with a bow, and I took another step toward the door.
She stood irresolute, looking at me and fingering the bracelet on her arm, and I know not how long might have lingered, for she was good to look upon, when suddenly she snapped the circlet and it fell apart in her fingers. She looked at it with a little cry of surprise, and then held it out to me, with the prettiest gesture of friendliness.