The Puppet Crown [28]
fairy scene made complete, is a woman to talk to. By George, what's to hinder me from finding one?" he added, seized by the spirit of mischief. He turned his head this way and that. "Ah! doubtless there is the one I'm looking for."
Seated alone at a table behind him was a woman dressed in gray. Her back was toward him, but he lost none of the beautiful contours of her figure. She wore a gray alpine hat, below the rim of which rebellious little curls escaped, curls of a fine red-brown, which, as they trailed to the nape of the firm white neck, lightened into a ruddy gold. Her delicate head was turned aside, and to all appearances her gaze was directed to the entrance to the pavilion. A heavy blue veil completely obscured her features; though Maurice could see a rose-tinted ear and the shadow of a curving chin and throat, which promised much. To a man there is always a mystery lurking behind a veil. So he rose, walked past her, returned and deliberately sat down in the chair opposite to hers. The fact that gendarmes moved among the crowd did not disturb him.
"Good evening, Mademoiselle," he said, politely lifting his hat.
She straightened haughtily. "Monsieur," she said, resentment, consternation and indignation struggling to predominate in her tones, "I did not give you permission to sit down. You are impertinent!"
"O, no," Maurice declared. "I am not impertinent. I am lonesome. In all Bleiberg I haven't a soul to talk to, excepting the hotel waiters, and they are uninteresting. Grant me the privilege of conversing with you for a moment. We shall never meet again; and I should not know you if we did. Whether you are old or young, plain or beautiful, it matters not. My only wish is to talk to a woman, to hear a woman's voice"
"Shall I call a gendarme, Monsieur, and have him search for your nurse?" The attitude which accompanied these words was anything but assuring.
He, however, evinced no alarm. He even laughed. "That was good! We shall get along finely, I am sure."
"Monsieur," she said, rising, "I repeat that I do not desire your company, nor to remain in the presence of your unspeakable effrontery."
"I beseech you!" implored Maurice, also rising. "I am a foreigner, lonesome, unhappy, thousands of miles from home--"
"You are English?" suddenly. She stood with the knuckle of her forefinger on her lips as if meditating. She sat down.
Maurice, greatly surprised, also sat down.
"English?" he repeated. His thought was: "What the deuce! This is the third time I have been asked that. Who is this gay Lothario the women seem to be expecting?" To her he continued: "And why do you ask me that?"
"Perhaps it is your accent. And what do you wish to say to me, Monsieur?" It was a voice of quality; all the anger had gone from it. She leaned on her elbows, her chin in her palms, and through the veil he caught the sparkle of a pair of wonderful eyes. "Let us converse in English," she added. "It is so long since I have had occasion to speak in that tongue." She repeated her question.
"O, I had no definite plan outlined," he answered; "just generalities, with the salt of repartee to season." He pondered over this sudden transition from wrath to mildness. An Englishman? Very well; it might grow interesting.
"Is it customary among the English to request to speak to strangers without the usual formalities of an introduction?"
"I can not say that it is," he answered truthfully enough; "but the procedure is never without a certain charm and excitement."
"Ah; then you were led to address me merely by the love of adventure?"
"That is it; the love of adventure. I should not have spoken to you had you not worn the veil." He remarked that her English was excellent.
"You differ from the average Englishman, who is usually wrapt up in himself and has no desire to talk to strangers. You have been a soldier."
The evolutions of his cane ceased. "How in the world did you guess that?" surprised beyond measure.
"Perhaps there is something suggestive
Seated alone at a table behind him was a woman dressed in gray. Her back was toward him, but he lost none of the beautiful contours of her figure. She wore a gray alpine hat, below the rim of which rebellious little curls escaped, curls of a fine red-brown, which, as they trailed to the nape of the firm white neck, lightened into a ruddy gold. Her delicate head was turned aside, and to all appearances her gaze was directed to the entrance to the pavilion. A heavy blue veil completely obscured her features; though Maurice could see a rose-tinted ear and the shadow of a curving chin and throat, which promised much. To a man there is always a mystery lurking behind a veil. So he rose, walked past her, returned and deliberately sat down in the chair opposite to hers. The fact that gendarmes moved among the crowd did not disturb him.
"Good evening, Mademoiselle," he said, politely lifting his hat.
She straightened haughtily. "Monsieur," she said, resentment, consternation and indignation struggling to predominate in her tones, "I did not give you permission to sit down. You are impertinent!"
"O, no," Maurice declared. "I am not impertinent. I am lonesome. In all Bleiberg I haven't a soul to talk to, excepting the hotel waiters, and they are uninteresting. Grant me the privilege of conversing with you for a moment. We shall never meet again; and I should not know you if we did. Whether you are old or young, plain or beautiful, it matters not. My only wish is to talk to a woman, to hear a woman's voice"
"Shall I call a gendarme, Monsieur, and have him search for your nurse?" The attitude which accompanied these words was anything but assuring.
He, however, evinced no alarm. He even laughed. "That was good! We shall get along finely, I am sure."
"Monsieur," she said, rising, "I repeat that I do not desire your company, nor to remain in the presence of your unspeakable effrontery."
"I beseech you!" implored Maurice, also rising. "I am a foreigner, lonesome, unhappy, thousands of miles from home--"
"You are English?" suddenly. She stood with the knuckle of her forefinger on her lips as if meditating. She sat down.
Maurice, greatly surprised, also sat down.
"English?" he repeated. His thought was: "What the deuce! This is the third time I have been asked that. Who is this gay Lothario the women seem to be expecting?" To her he continued: "And why do you ask me that?"
"Perhaps it is your accent. And what do you wish to say to me, Monsieur?" It was a voice of quality; all the anger had gone from it. She leaned on her elbows, her chin in her palms, and through the veil he caught the sparkle of a pair of wonderful eyes. "Let us converse in English," she added. "It is so long since I have had occasion to speak in that tongue." She repeated her question.
"O, I had no definite plan outlined," he answered; "just generalities, with the salt of repartee to season." He pondered over this sudden transition from wrath to mildness. An Englishman? Very well; it might grow interesting.
"Is it customary among the English to request to speak to strangers without the usual formalities of an introduction?"
"I can not say that it is," he answered truthfully enough; "but the procedure is never without a certain charm and excitement."
"Ah; then you were led to address me merely by the love of adventure?"
"That is it; the love of adventure. I should not have spoken to you had you not worn the veil." He remarked that her English was excellent.
"You differ from the average Englishman, who is usually wrapt up in himself and has no desire to talk to strangers. You have been a soldier."
The evolutions of his cane ceased. "How in the world did you guess that?" surprised beyond measure.
"Perhaps there is something suggestive