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There will never again be such great artists, a performance unsurpassed and even unequaled in the history of the Oire." Philidor's adjectives had given out as had his breath and so he paused. As he did so he heard Olga's voice beside him in a single but curiously expressive syllable. "Well?" it asked. His eyes met hers without other token of recognition than a slight twinkle of amusement.
That is, they proclaimed in loud tones the prodigies that were to be disclosed and that the performance was about to begin; to the end that, in a little while, coppers and centime pieces jingled merrily in Philidor's coat pocket, the benches were filled and a crowd two deep stood behind. This augured well. Cleofonte beamed as he counted noses, and the performance began.
This paid for their share of the ragot, some cheese, bread and a liter of wine. When they got up to go, such was the immediate fame of Philidor's portrait, that two other persons came with the money in their hands to sit to him. But he shook his head. He would be back this way, perhaps but now no they must be upon their way.
The active members of the Fabiani family had all retired to the dressing tent and were occupied in the preliminaries to supper. Philidor's mind was working rapidly, but, think as he would, nothing occurred to him which might effectually serve to stem the tide of his visitor's dangerous curiosity. She paused before the door, looking upward, and Philidor watched the window fearfully.
The girl's lover, a gardener from an estate nearby, showed it jubilantly from group to group, and Philidor's fame was again established. It could not in any truth be said that Yvonne's orchestra was a symphonic success, for she jangled her mandolin horribly out of tune, and blew her mouth-organ atrociously.
"Olga! I saw her. She's out there." It was Philidor's turn to be perturbed. "Olga Tcherny! You must be mistaken." "I'm not. I wish I was. I saw her plainly and the Renauds, Madeleine de Cahors and Chandler Cushing. O Philidor, they mustn't see me here!" She seized his arm and looked up into his eyes appealingly. His brows drew downward and he glanced toward the entrance.
In the country there is not such another!" With these compliments and in others like them the minutes passed quickly. Yvonne's eyes avoided Philidor's, though he frequently sought them. Nor was he dismayed when, in response to Madame Gugou's interest query as to when they would marry, Yvonne shrugged her shoulders indifferently and sighed. "Oh, I do not know, Madame. Often I think never.
Indeed, she was making herself very much at home, and to Philidor's chagrin insisted upon examining the Signora's knives and torches, the heavy weights of Cleofonte, the chains and the larger fragments of the stone which Luigi had broken on Cleofonte's chest. It was all very interesting. Then she sat upon a bench, her glance still roving restlessly, lighting at last upon the house wagon.
"To-morrow we shall be in Verneuil," he said quietly. "I will give you money to buy clothes and put you on the train for Paris." There was a long silence, broken by the sound of Pre Gugou's chickens flapping to their roosting bars. The saffron heavens had changed to purple, and in the spire of the village campanile a bell tolled solemnly the strokes of Philidor's doom. He did not see her face.
These gambits may be classed under what are, in common phrase, termed "open" or "close" games; an open game being where the pieces are brought out into more immediate engagement, a close game where the pawns interlock, and the pieces can less easily issue to the attack. An instance of the former may be found in the Allgaier, of the latter in Philidor's Defence.
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