“As the little madame likes,” was his polite rejoinder, followed by a call to the girl who was still sporting my hat, to the evident admiration of her companions.
“Drop it, or it will be the worse for you!” he cried, with a flourish of his whip. “It is madame’s.”
But I did not need his interference, for, as I came up to the girl, breathless and panting, a tall gendarme crossed from the other side of the street, and at sight of him the children fled in haste, leaving my hat behind them. Picking it up and brushing some particles of dust from it, and straightening the crushed flower with a deftness I hardly expected in a man, he handed it to me, and said: “You will not wear it again, after it has been on her head,” and he motioned toward the girl, who, with her two companions, was scampering away as fast as her little, bare legs and feet could carry her. I had another hat in my trunk, and, remembering what I had heard of the condition of Russian heads, answered, emphatically: “Never! She can have it. Here, girl, come back!” I screamed to the child just disappearing in the distance.
I doubt if my call would have reached her if the gendarme had not sent after her a short, shrill, peremptory whistle, which brought her to a standstill as quickly as if she had been shot. Turning round, she saw me beckoning to her, and holding at arm’s length my hat, as if there was contagion in it. In a few moments she had it, or, rather, the three had it, pulling and fighting over it, until the last I saw of it one little girl was dangling a long ribbon, a second appropriating the bunch of forget-me-nots, while the eldest was wearing the poor, shorn thing as proudly as if it were a great acquisition.
I had scarcely realized till then, in my excitement, that the gendarme who had come to my aid was the one who on the boat had questioned me of Nicol Patoff. Would he ask me about him again, I wondered, and was relieved that he did not even act as if we had met before. Glancing at my hair, which I was beginning to rearrange, he said: “Madame must go bareheaded.”
“Only from here to the hotel. I have another hat,” I answered, thinking of the day Nicol Patoff had found me drying my hair, and complimented its beauty.
It was darker now, with a wonderful sheen upon it in the sunlight, and I could not help feeling that the man was admiring it through his half-closed eyes, and scanning me very closely. He had certainly been going in the opposite direction when I first saw him across the street, but he turned now and went with me to the hotel, where my friends gathered round me, asking what had happened, and why I had come on foot and without my hat. While I was explaining to them, the gendarme was speaking to the clerk about me, I was sure, as he glanced toward me, and nodded that he understood. Then, with a bow in my direction, which included those of my party standing near me, the gendarme walked away.
I had learned by this time that our German conductor, Henri, was of very little use, except to smoke and take a glass of beer when he could get it, and, if I wanted a thing done, I must do it myself. I could speak Russian much better than he could, and, as I wished to ask some questions, and was particular about my room, I went to the desk to register. After I had written my name, “Miss Lucy Harding, Ridgefield, Massachusetts, U. S. A.,” the clerk called a young boy, whom he designated “Boots,” and bade him show Miss Garding and her friend, who was to room with her, to a certain number. If there is in the English alphabet one letter which puzzles a Russian more than another, it is the letter “H,” and he usually ends by putting “G” in its place. Consequently, I became Miss or Madame Garding, developing, finally, into a Garden, and remaining so during my stay in St. Petersburg. From what we had heard of Russian hotels, we were not prepared for palatial apartments, and I was surprised at the large, airy corner room into which I was ushered. Turning to Boots, I asked if there was not some mistake. Was he sure this room was intended for us, and if it were not the best in the house?
When he found I could speak his language, Boots became communicative and familiar, although, evidently, he had no intention to be pert. It was one of the best rooms, he said, and tourists did not often get it, as it was reserved for Russian gentry when they came to town from the country.
“I heard Monsieur Seguin ask the clerk to do his best by you. I guess he thinks you are some great lady at home.”