ran forward to the girl, snatching her hands from her eyes,
dragging her to her feet.

"What a fool I was!" he cried, "What an idiot! Quick, Kaya! My chum
is an artist; he is off now in Sicily, painting the rocks, and the sea,
and the peasants; but his things are all there in his room next to
mine, just duds for his models you know. Go--go! Put on one like
mine. You shall be a boy. We will be boys together, gypsies, and play
for our living. We will walk to the frontier, Kaya, together."

The two stared at one another for a moment. He was pushing her gently
towards the curtain. "Quick!" he whispered, "Be quick!" They both
listened for a moment.

Then he pushed her inside and dragged down the curtain: "Now, I must
pack," he cried, "Now I must prepare to meet Galitsin, the round-eyed
ox! Ha ha!--He will wait until he is stiff, and then he will fly back
here in a rage. Good God, we must hurry!" He began opening and
shutting the drawers, taking out money and jewels from one, articles of
apparel from another.

"No collars, no neck-ties!" he said to himself, "How simple to be a
gypsey! A knapsack will hold all for her and for me.--Kaya!--Bozhe
moi!"

The curtain was drawn back and in the doorway stood a boy.

CHAPTER IX

The two gypsies gazed at one another in silence.

The small, picturesque figure in the doorway wore velveteen trousers of
green, old and faded, a black jacket rusty, with the sleeves patched,
and a scarlet sash tied loosely about the waist. On the back of her
cropped yellow curls was a velveteen cap, rakishly tipped, and she
stood debonair beneath the folds of the curtain with a laugh on her
lips.

"Mon Dieu!" she cried, "How you stare, Monsieur! Will I do? What sort
of a boy do I make; all right? Are you satisfied, sir?"

She made a little rush forward, eluding Velasco, and stopped before the
mirror with her hands boyishly deep in her pockets, glancing back over
her shoulder and pirouetting slowly backwards and forwards.

"The hair looks a little rough!" she exclaimed, "I cut it with a pair
of shears, or perhaps it was a razor, who knows! Ma foi! It is not
like a girl's at all, so short! What my maid would say! You would
never take me for a Countess now, would you--would you?" She patted
her curls and pulled down her jacket in front, turning first to one
side, then to the other. "What a nice pair of gypsies we make, sir,
eh? Come and look at yourself. You are tal