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Updated: June 2, 2025
Cigarette's fearless eyes drooped under the gaze of those bent so searchingly, yet so gently, upon her; but only for a moment. She raised them afresh with their old dauntless frankness. "Dieu! you shall never say you wanted justice and truth from a French soldier, and failed to get them! I hate you, never mind why I do, though you never harmed me.
They shot him ah, bah! discipline must be kept and I saw him with five great wounds in his chest, and his beautiful golden hair all soiled with the sand and the powder, lying there by the open grave, that they threw him into as if he were offal; and we never knew more of him than that." Cigarette's radiant laugh had died, and her careless voice had sunk, over the latter words.
She was a dilettante in handsome men; she nodded her head now to where, some yards off, at another of the camp-fires, stood, with some officers of the regiment, one of the tourists; a very tall, very fair man, with a gallant bearing, and a tawny beard that glittered to gold in the light of the flames. Cecil's glance followed Cigarette's.
The cold, calm dignity of the question, whose very tone was a rebuke, came strangely after the violent audacity of Cigarette's speech. "Sacre bleu! Of him, I tell you, who was made to bring his wares to you like a hawker.
All these and many more like them were the spectators of Cigarette's ballet; applauding with the wild hurrah of the desert, with the clashing of spurs, with the thunder of feet, with the demoniac shrieks of irrepressible adoration and delight.
And he, a grave and noble-looking veteran, uncovered his head and bowed before her as courtiers bow before their queens. "Mademoiselle, you saved the honor of France. In the name of France, I thank you." The tears rushed swift and hot into Cigarette's bright eyes tears of joy, tears of pride.
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 Châtillon: 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.
But look, I say, is my tongue yellow? 'Yes, it is, answered Arkady. 'Hm ... and the cigarette's tasteless. The machine's out of gear. 'You look changed lately certainly, observed Arkady. 'It's nothing! we shall soon be all right. One thing's a bother my mother's so tender-hearted; if you don't grow as round as a tub, and eat ten times a day, she's quite upset.
As far as in us lies, we strive to remedy its evil; the uttermost effort can do but little, but that little is only lessened fearfully lessened whenever Class is arrayed against Class by that blind antagonism which animates yourself." Cigarette's intelligence was too rapid not to grasp the truths conveyed by these words; but she was in no mood to acknowledge them.
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