The Azure Rose Part 9

He opened it and struck a match: the room was empty. He held the match until it burnt his fingers.

The old woman pushed him toward his table, on which stood a battered lamp. She pointed to the lamp.

"But your mistress?" asked Cartaret.

The duenna pointed to the lamp.

"Shall I light it?"

She nodded.

He lit the lamp. The flame grew until it illuminated a small circle about the table.

"Now what?" Cartaret inquired.

Again that odd gesture toward the nose and mouth.

"I don't understand," said Cartaret.

She picked up the lamp and made as if to search the floor for something. Then she held out the lamp to him.

"Oh"--it began to dawn on Cartaret--"you've lost something?"

"_Oui, oui!_"

He took the lamp, and they both fell on their knees. Together they began a minute inspection of the dusty floor. Cartaret's mind was more easy now: at least his Lady suffered no physical distress.

"It's like a sort of religious ceremony," muttered the American, as, foot by foot, they crawled and groped over the grimy boards....

"Was it money you lost?" he inquired.

No, it was not money.

The search continued. Cartaret crawled under the divan, while the duenna held the cover high to admit the light. He blackened his hands in the fire-place and transferred a little of the soot to his few extra clothes that hung behind the corner curtain--but only a little; most of the soot preferred his hands.

"I never knew before that the room was so large," he gasped.

They had covered two-thirds of the floor-s.p.a.ce when a new thought struck him. Still crouching on his knees, he once more tried his companion.

"I can't find it," he said; "but I'd give a good deal to know what I'm looking for. What were you doing in here when you lost it, anyway?"

She shook her head, with her hand on her breast. Then she pointed to the door and nodded.

"You mean your mistress lost it?"

"_Oui._"

"Well, then, let's get her. She can tell me what I'm after."

He half rose; but the woman seized his arm. She broke into loud sounds, patently protestations.

"Nonsense," said Cartaret. "Why not? Come on; I'll knock at her door."

The duenna would not have her mistress disturbed. The ancient voice rose to a shriek.

"But I say yes."

The shriek grew louder. With amazing strength, the old woman forced his unsuspecting body back to its former position; she came near to jolting the lamp from his hand.

It was then that Cartaret heard a lesser noise behind them: a voice, the low sweet voice of The Rose-Lady, asked, in the duenna's strange tongue, a question from the doorway. Cartaret turned his head.

She was standing there in the dim light, a sort of kimono gathered about her, her sandaled feet peeping from its lower folds, the lovely arm that held the curious dressing-gown in place bare to the elbow.

She was smiling at the answer that her guardian had already given her; Cartaret thought her even more beautiful than when he had seen her before.

The duenna had scuttled forward on her knees and, amid a series of cries, was pressing the hem of the kimono to her lips. The Girl's free hand was raising the pet.i.tioner.

"I am sorry that you have been disturbed by Chitta," she was saying.

Cartaret understood then that he was addressed. Moreover, he became conscious that he was by no means at his best on his knees, with his clothes even more rumpled than usual, his hands black and, probably, his face no better. He scrambled to his feet.

"It's been no trouble," he said awkwardly.

"I should say that it had been a good deal," said the Girl. "Chitta is so very superst.i.tious. Did you find it?"

"No," said Cartaret. "At least I don't think so."

The Girl puckered her pretty brow.

"I mean," explained Cartaret, coming nearer, but thankful that he had left the lamp on the floor behind him, whence its light would least reveal his soiled hands and face--"I mean that I haven't the least idea what I was looking for."

The Girl burst into rippling laughter.

"Not the least," pursued the emboldened American. "You see, I left word with Refrogne--that's the concierge--that I was dining with some friends at the Deux Colombes--that's a cafe--when I went out; and I suppose she--I mean your--your maid, isn't it?--made him understand that she--I mean your maid again--wanted me--you know, I don't generally leave word; but this time I thought that perhaps you--I mean she--or, anyhow, I had an idea----"

He knew that he was making a fool of himself, so he was glad when she came serenely to his a.s.sistance and gallantly shifted the difficulty to her own shoulders.

"It was too bad of Chitta to take you away from your dinner."

Chitta had slunk into the shadows, but Cartaret could descry her glaring at him.

"That was of no consequence," he said; he had forgotten what the dinner cost him.

"But, sir, for a reason of so great an absurdity!" She put one hand on the table and leaned on it. "I must tell you that there is in my country a superst.i.tion----"

She hesitated. Cartaret, his heart leaping, leaned forward.

"What is your country, mademoiselle?" he asked.