The two stared at one another for a moment. He was pushing her gently towards the curtain. "Quick!" he whispered, "Be quick!" They both listened for a moment.
Then he pushed her inside and dragged down the curtain: "Now, I must pack," he cried, "Now I must prepare to meet Galitsin, the round-eyed ox! Ha ha!—He will wait until he is stiff, and then he will fly back here in a rage. Good God, we must hurry!" He began opening and shutting the drawers, taking out money and jewels from one, articles of apparel from another.
"No collars, no neck-ties!" he said to himself, "How simple to be a gypsey! A knapsack will hold all for her and for me.—Kaya!—Bózhe moi!"
The curtain was drawn back and in the doorway stood a boy.
CHAPTER IX
The two gypsies gazed at one another in silence.
The small, picturesque figure in the doorway wore velveteen trousers of green, old and faded, a black jacket rusty, with the sleeves patched, and a scarlet sash tied loosely about the waist. On the back of her cropped yellow curls was a velveteen cap, rakishly tipped, and she stood debonair beneath the folds of the curtain with a laugh on her lips.
"Mon Dieu!" she cried, "How you stare, Monsieur! Will I do? What sort of a boy do I make; all right? Are you satisfied, sir?"
She made a little rush forward, eluding Velasco, and stopped before the mirror with her hands boyishly deep in her pockets, glancing back over her shoulder and pirouetting slowly backwards and forwards.