"Ah!" cried Cigarette, with a volley of slang utterly untranslatable,
"that is how you treat your betters, is it? Miser, monster, crocodile,
serpent! He wanted the money and you refused it? Ah! son of Satan! You
live on other men's miseries! Run after him, quick, and give him this,
and this, and this, and this; and say you were only in jest, and that
the things were worth a Sheik's ransom. Stay! You must not give him too
much, or he will know it is not you--viper! Run quick, and breath a word
about me, if you dare; one whisper only, and my Spahis shall cut your
throat from ear to ear. Off! Or you shall have a bullet to quicken your
steps; misers dance well when pistols play the minuet!"
With which exordium the little Amie du Drapeau shook her culprit at
every epithet, emptied out a shower of gold and silver just won at play,
from the bosom of her uniform, forced it into the dealer's hands, hurled
him out of his own door, and drew her pretty weapon with a clash from
her sash.
"Run for your life!--and do just what I bid you; or a shot shall crash
your skull in as sure as my name is Cigarette!"
The little old Jew flew as fast as his limbs would carry him, clutching
the coins in his horny hands. He was terrified to a mortal anguish, and
had not a thought of resisting or disobeying her; he knew the fame
of Cigarette--as who did not? Knew that she would fire at a man as
carelessly as at a cat,--more carelessly, in truth,--for she favored
cats; saving many from going to the Zouaves' soup-caldrons, and favored
civilians not at all; and knew that at her rallying cry all the sabers
about the town would be drawn without a second's deliberation, and
sheathed in anything or anybody that had offended her, for Cigarette
was, in her fashion, Generalissima of all the Regiments of Africa.
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