“I said so—Tchames.”
“What else?”
“Nilan.”
“Neeland?”
“I said so.”
Sengoun placed the goldpiece in Nini’s hand and looked at Neeland with an uncomfortable laugh.
“I ought to know a gipsy, but they always astonish me, these Tziganes. Tell us some more, Nini––” He beckoned a waiter and pointed indignantly at the empty goblets.
The girls, resting their elbows on the tables, framed their faces with slim and dusky hands, and gazed at Sengoun out of humorous, half-veiled eyes.
“What do you wish to know, Prince Erlik?” they asked mockingly.
“Well, for example, is my country really mobilising?”