When I
see this same young man,--he must be a nice sprig of royalty!--I propose
to tell him what I think of him." Pobloff threw out his chest and
snorted with pride. Again he fancied that he heard suppressed laughter.
He darted glances in every direction, but the fall of distant waters
smote upon his ears like the crepuscular music of Chopin. His companion
shook with ill-suppressed emotion. It was some time before she could
speak.
"Pobloff," she begged, in her dangerous contralto, a contralto like the
medium register of a clarinet, "Pobloff, let me adjure you to be
careful. Your coming here has caused political disturbances. The aunt of
the prince hates music as much as he adores it. She is no party to your
invitation. So be on your guard. Even now there may be spies in the
shrubbery." She put her hand on his arm. It was too much. In an instant,
despite her feeble struggle, the ardent musician grasped the creature
that had tantalized him since morning, and kissed her a dozen times. His
head whirled. Pobloff! Pobloff! a voice cried in his brain--and only
yesterday you left your Luga, your pretty pigeon, your wife!
The girl was dragged away from him.
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