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At the right, Sydya, myself, the old manicure, Rosita, Barouf, the barber, another woman and two white Tuareg, grave and attentive, exactly opposite those on the left. "Give me one," said the Hetman. Sydya made a negative gesture. Koukou drew, passed a four-spot to the Hetman, gave himself a five. "Eight," announced Bielowsky. "Six," said pretty Sydya. "Seven," broke in Koukou.
Their smooth bistre skins gleamed beneath veils shot with silver. I was sorry not to see the red silk tunic of Tanit-Zerga. Again, I thought of Morhange, but only for an instant. "The chips, Koukou," demanded the Hetman, "We are not here to amuse ourselves." The Zwinglian cook placed a box of many-colored chips in front of him.
I watched the curve of her beautiful throat. "My deal," said Koukou. We were thus arranged: at the left, the Hetman, Aguida, whose waist he had encircled with the most aristocratic freedom, Cacambo, a Tuareg woman, then two veiled Negroes who were watching the game intently.
"Morhange will miss this delicious roast of mutton," said the Professor, more and more hilarious, as he awarded himself a thick slice of meat. "He won't regret it," said the Hetman crossly. "This is not roast; it is ram's horn. Really Koukou is beginning to make fun of us." "Blame it on the Reverend," the shrill voice of Le Mesge cut in.
She looked at me, too, but with lowered eyelids, like a timid little wild animal. "Oh," I thought. "She may well be afraid. I am labelled 'No trespassing." I touched her foot. She drew it back in fright. "Who wants cards?" Koukou demanded. "Not I," said the Hetman. "Served," said Sydya. The cook drew a four. "Nine," he said. "That card was meant for me," cursed the count. "And five, I had a five.
"Long live the Pope!" he cried, filling the glasses all around. "I assure you that this Bambara worries me," Spardek went on with great dignity. "Do you know what he has come to? He denies transubstantiation. He is within an inch of the heresy of Zwingli and Oecolampades. Koukou denies transubstantiation." "Sir," said Le Mesge, very much excited, "cooks should be left in peace.
"One card makes up for another," he added coldly. "I double," said the Hetman. Cacambo and Aguida followed his example. On our side, we were more careful. The manicure especially would not risk more than twenty francs at a time. "I demand that the cards be evened up," said Koukou imperturbably. "This fellow is unbearable," grumbled the count. "There, are you satisfied?"
The Reverend Spardek and the Hetmari of Jitomir already had begun eating when we arrived. The setting sun threw raspberry lights on the cream-colored mat. "Be seated, gentlemen," said Le Mesge noisily. "Lieutenant de Saint-Avit, you were not with us last evening. You are about to taste the cooking of Koukou, our Bambara chef, for the first time. You must give me your opinion of it."
"Koukou denies transubstantiation," the pastor continued, sadly emptying his glass. "Eh!" said the Hetman of Jitomir in my ear, "let them talk on. Don't you see that they are quite drunk?" His own voice was thick. He had the greatest difficulty in the world in filling my goblet to the brim. I wanted to push the pitcher away.
The Hetman made an impatient gesture. "That devil, Koukou! You can't do anything against the beast. You will have to play carefully, Lieutenant." Koukou had taken his place at the end of the table. He threw down the cards with an air which abashed me. "I told you so; the way it was at Anna Deslions'," the Hetman murmured proudly. "Make your bets, gentlemen," yelped the Negro. "Make your bets."
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