The younger gypsey sank back on the floor cross-legged, half hidden by the chair and the form of Velasco. Her hands were still trembling and she put them in the pockets of her jacket, trying to force her red lips to a whistle; but no sound came through the arch. She heard the voice of Velasco smooth, and wicked, and humble, just above her.
"There is a musician," he was saying, "Perhaps you have heard of him? His name is Velasco."
"Bosh!" said Petrokoff in an angry tone, and then he blew his nose loudly. "Velasco—bosh! He is only a trickster! There is a fad nowadays among the ladies to run after him." He bowed to the three ladies in turn mockingly, "My friends here tried to get tickets last week in St. Petersburg, but the house was sold out. Bosh—I tell you! I wouldn't cross the street to hear a virtuoso like that!"
The gypsey gave a queer sound like a chuckle: "He does not play as you do, of course, Bárin!"
"I!" cried Petrokoff. He twirled his mustache fiercely. "The Russians are like children, they run after every new plaything. The Pole is a new plaything, a toy—bah! I have been before the public twenty-five years. I am an artist; I am one of the old School. I—"
"Go away, Kaya!" whispered Velasco, "This is grand! I haven't enjoyed myself so much for an age. Go away, little one; don't be frightened. It is all right, only don't cough too much, or the ladies will see you are laughing.
"Ah, Velasco, come—come!"
"Go away, child! He is opening his mouth again, the fat monster! Watch the 'I' leap out! If he plays again I shall die in a fit; he handles the bow like the fin of a shark. Be still, Kaya—go!"
"Velasco—listen, won't you listen? The ladies—ah, don't turn your head away—the one with the grey bonnet is the Countess Galli. I have seen her often at my father's house, Velasco; and she stares first at me, then at you. She suspects."
"The fright, with the long nose?"