The gypsey drew the bow slowly and lingeringly over the flatted notes. It was like the wail of a soul in inferno; a shriek like a devil laughing.
"Ha-ha!" cried Velasco. "Now I understand! That is what you were after, Bárin?"
Petrokoff eyed him sharply.
The boy's face was the picture of innocence; the mouth was slightly puckered as if with concentrated effort; his eyes were open and frank; he was smiling a little triumphantly like a child that is sure of pleasing and waiting for praise.
"You play atrociously," said Petrokoff severely. "I shall keep you six months on finger exercises alone. You play false!"
The light died out of the boy's face:
"Bárin," he said humbly, "In Moscow you will teach me to play like yourself. I am nothing but an ignorant bradjaga as you see."
Suddenly he put his hand to his mouth and began to cough: "The dust!" he said, "It has gone to my throat all at once. Eh—what? Excuse me a moment, Bárin."
Kaya's yellow curls were close to his ear and she whispered something. She was standing behind his chair and, as she stooped to him, her hand rested on his shoulder and trembled slightly: "Velasco," she said, in a voice like a breath, "Come, I beseech you! You are playing with danger, with death! They will surely suspect; ah, come!"
The gypsey tossed his head, like a young horse when some one is trying to force the bit between his teeth; his chin stiffened and an obstinate look came into his eyes. He brushed her aside: "No," he murmured, "Go away, Kaya! He is a stupid fool, can't you see? I am not half through; it is heavenly to hear him! Go—go! I want to tease him some more; I tell you I will."