But you are too good to him, he is one of
the very worst of my pratiques; and you are as cruel to me in refusing
to deign to accept my trooper's worthless bagatelles at my hands."
She bent her superb head silently, whether in acquiescence or rejection
he could not well resolve with himself, and turned to the staff
officers, among them the heir of a princely semi-royal French House, who
surrounded her, and sorely begrudged the moments she had given to those
miniature carvings and the private soldier who had wrought them. She was
no coquette; she was of too imperial a nature, had too lofty a pride,
and was too difficult to charm or to enchain; but those meditative,
brilliant, serene eyes had a terrible gift of awakening without ever
seeking love, and of drawing without ever recompensing homage.
Crouched down among her rose-hued covert, Cigarette had watched and
heard; her teeth set tightly, her breath coming and going swiftly, her
hand clinched close on the butts of her pistols; fiery curses, with all
the infinite variety in cursing of a barrack repertoire, chasing one
another in hot, fast mutterings of those bright lips, that should have
known nothing except a child's careless and innocent song.
She had never looked at a beautiful, high-born woman before, holding
them in gay, satirical disdain as mere butterflies who could not prime
a revolver and fire it off to save their own lives, if ever such need
arose.
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