"Thanks. I only play hazard."
"Humph! Strictly forbidden here."
"As is ball-giving in Lent," returned Galban, laughing.
Now a fresh procession riveted the general attention. "The gypsies!" went from mouth to mouth.
In Russia, as in Hungary, the gypsy is the minstrel of national song. It is curious that in Hungary instrumental music is the gypsies' art, while in Russia it is singing. Troops of them go from town to town as choral societies, and never fail at entertainments given at the houses of the great.
The group of some four-and-twenty men and women, clad in their picturesque Oriental costume, formed themselves into a circle in the ballroom, and began their songs of wood and valley, while one of them, a girl, represented in her dance the subject of their song.
"By Jove! come and look at our black pearl," said Pushkin, by the aid of his friend drawing Galban into the circle. "Bravo, Diabolka! Show yourself worthy of your name. Look how supple she is! she is a very devil! Every one of her gestures is enticement. See how her eyes sparkle! All the fires of hell are burning in them! Enviable they who do penance there. And when, with downcast eyes, she casts you a melancholy glance from beneath those long silken lashes, you think she must be on the verge of swooning. But, beware, the tiger can bite."
The wild gypsy girl, suddenly starting from her lifeless statuesque posture, here sprang upon Chevalier Galban, and threw her arms around him.
"By Jove! the comedy is well planned," thought Chevalier Galban to himself. "Here am I fast bound in the arms of this gypsy. My friends, the conspirators, know how to set about things."
"Bravo, Diabolka!" applauded Pushkin; and in a trice the three gentlemen had disappeared from Galban's side; it was unnecessary to watch him longer. Once Diabolka's net was spun about him, he was caught and meshed.