“Of what sort, Michaud?” I asked; “old or young, fair or fat?”
“How can I tell, monsieur,” he replied, with a shrug, “they are hooded as close as an ugly nun.”
I laughed.
“Maître le Bastien shall not have all the fun,” I said; “let them come up, Michaud, and not a word to tell them I am not the master goldsmith.”
He gave me an odd look and went out, and presently I heard his step again on the stairs, and with it the rustle of skirts and the sound of soft laughter.
“So!” I said to myself, “the jest is not all on one side.”
II: THE MINIATURE
MICHAUD opened the door and stood back to admit my visitors, casting another look of intelligence at me. But the two did not enter at once; instead, there was much ado, whispers and suppressed laughter in the hall, one hanging back and one pushing forward, until my curiosity was alive, and I stood waiting with my eyes on the door. At last, with another ripple of laughter, they came in; two slight figures, muffled in the long, straight Russian cloaks, fur-edged, with conical hoods over their heads, their features as completely concealed as any nun’s of Port Royal. Determined to play my rôle of goldsmith to the life, I had hastily picked up a mallet and a bit of beaten gold, and, with these in my hands, I made a becoming obeisance. Both the cloaked figures responded, and here at once I noted a difference between them which no similarity of dress could disguise: the taller of the two inclined her hooded head with the air of a queen, the smaller one nodded at me with a suggestion of infinite good humour. They remained silent,—struck dumb, no doubt, at their own daring,—and we three stood confronting each other without a word. It was evident that the pause might be eternal, and I heard Michaud shuffling his feet outside the door; the rogue was listening. I had learned to speak Russian fairly well and I called it to my aid.
“How can I serve you, madame?” I said, awkwardly enough, I suspect, for the shorter girl tittered, while the taller one silenced her with a gesture, and addressed me in excellent French.
“You are a goldsmith, monsieur,” she said, in a clear voice, her accent sweet rather than harsh. “I would have this locket opened.”