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The Spaniard found a small milking stool and, carrying it to the middle of the yard, sat and comfortably rolled another cigarette. He was searching for a match when the bull moved forward a pace; he had found and was striking it when the bull increased his pace; he was guarding the flame about the cigarette's end when the animal broke into a charging run.
Modesty is apt to go to the wall in camps, and poor little Cigarette's notions of the great passion were very simple, rudimentary, and in no way coy. How should they be?
I was still inwardly fuming, when up came a pair of young fellows, who imagined I was the Cigarette's servant, on a comparison, I suppose, of my bare jersey with the other's mackintosh, and asked me many questions about my place and my master's character. I said he was a good enough fellow, but had this absurd voyage on the head.
He did not waken from the painful, delirious, stupefied slumber that had fallen on him; he only vaguely felt that he was suffering pain; he only vaguely dreamed of what he murmured of his past, and the beauty of the woman who had brought all the memories of that past back on him. And this was Cigarette's reward to hear him mutter wearily of the proud eyes and of the lost smile of another!
"Laziness!" repeated Ferdie sternly. "'Tis a vice that I abhor. Slip me a smoke." Francis Charles fumbled in the cypress humidor at Ferdie's elbow; he leaned over the table and gently closed Ferdie's finger and thumb upon a cigarette. "Match," sighed Ferdie. Boland struck a match; he held the flame to the cigarette's end. Ferdie puffed. Then he eyed his friend with judicial severity.
He flushed up, astonished. "You can't refuse to take a gambling debt." "I do," she retorted coolly. "I'm tired of taking your money." "But you won it." "I'm tired of winning it. It is all I ever do win from you." Her pretty head was wreathed in smoke. She tipped the ashes from the cigarette's end, watching them fall to powder on the rug. "I don't know what you mean," he persisted doggedly.
With the recollection came the remembrance of Cigarette's words as to his own passion for herself, and she grew paler as it did so. "God forbid he should have that pain, too!" she murmured. "What could it be save misery for us both!"
And yet with all this bustle on either hand, the road itself lay solitary. The Arethusa smoked a pipe beside a milestone, and I remember he laid down very exactly all he was to do at Chatillon: how he was to enjoy a cold plunge, to change his shirt, and to await the Cigarette's arrival, in sublime inaction, by the margin of the Loire.
This gentleman has chosen his own path; it is not for me to change his choice or spy into his motives." Cigarette's flashing, searching eyes bent all their brown light on her. "Mme. Corona, you are courageous; to those who are so, all things are possible." "A great fallacy! You must have seen many courageous men vanquished. But what would you imply by it?"
He spoke jestingly, but there was a tinge of sadness in the words that touched Cigarette's changeful temper to contrition, and filled her with the same compassion and wonder at him that she had felt when the ivory wreaths and crucifixes had lain in her hands. She knew she had been ungenerous a crime dark as night in the sight of the little chivalrous soldier.
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