And here — in the land of Hannibal, in the conquest of Scipio, in the Phoenicia whose loveliness used to flash in the burning, sea-mirrored sun, while her fleets went eastward17 and westward18 for the honey of Athens and the gold of Spain — here Cigarette danced the cancan!
A little hostelry of the barriere swung its sign of the As de Pique19 where feathery palms once had waved above mosques20 of snowy gleam, with marble domes21 and jeweled arabesques22, and the hush23 of prayer under columned aisles. “Here are sold wine, liquor and tobacco,” was written where once verses of the Koran had been blazoned24 by reverent25 hands along porphyry cornices and capitals of jasper. A Cafe Chantant reared its impudent26 little roof where once, far back in the dead cycles, Phoenician warriors27 had watched the galleys28 of the gold-haired favorite of the gods bear down to smite29 her against whom the one unpardonable sin of rivalry30 to Rome was quoted.
The riot of a Paris guinguette was heard where once the tent of Belisarius might have been spread above the majestic31 head that towered in youth above the tempestuous32 seas of Gothic armies, as when, silvered with age, it rose as a rock against the on-sweeping flood of Bulgarian hordes33. The grisette charms of little tobacconists, milliners, flower-girls, lemonade-sellers, bonbon-sellers, and filles de joie flaunted34 themselves in the gaslight where the lustrous35 sorceress eyes of Antonina might have glanced over the Afric Sea, while her wanton’s heart, so strangely filled with leonine courage and shameless license36, heroism37 and brutality38, cruelty and self-devotion, swelled39 under the purples of her delicate vest, at the glory of the man she at once dishonored and adored.
Vanitas vanitatum! Under the thirsty soil, under the ill-paved streets, under the arid40 turf, the Legions lay dead, with the Carthaginians they had borne down under the mighty41 pressure of their phalanx; and the Byzantine ranks were dust, side by side with the soldiers of Gelimer. And here, above the graves of two thousand centuries, the little light feet of Cigarette danced joyously42 in that triumph of the Living, who never remember that they also are dancing onward43 to the tomb.
It was a low-roofed, white-plastered, gaudily44 decked, smoke-dried mimicry45 of the guinguettes beyond Paris. The long room, that was an imitation of the Salle de Mars on a Lilliputian scale, had some bunches of lights flaring46 here and there, and had its walls adorned47 with laurel wreaths, stripes of tri-colored paint, vividly48 colored medallions of the Second Empire, and a little pink gauze flourished about it, that flashed into brightness under the jets of flame — trumpery50, yet trumpery which, thanks to the instinct of the French esprit, harmonized and did not vulgarize; a gift French instinct alone possesses. The floor was bare and well polished; the air full of tobacco smoke, wine fumes51, brandy odors, and an overpowering scent52 of oil, garlic and pot au feu. Riotous53 music pealed54 through it, that even in its clamor kept a certain silvery ring, a certain rhythmical55 cadence56. Pipes were smoked, barrack slang, camp slang, barriere slang, temple slang, were chattered57 volubly. Theresa’s songs were sung by bright-eyed, sallow-cheeked Parisiennes, and chorused by the lusty lungs of Zouaves and Turcos. Good humor prevailed, though of a wild sort; the mad gallop58 of the Rigolboche had just flown round the room, like lightning, to the crash and the tumult59 of the most headlong music that ever set the spurred heels stamping and grisettes’ heels flying; and now where the crowds of soldiers and women stood back to leave her a clear place, Cigarette was dancing alone.
She had danced the cancan; she had danced since sunset; she had danced till she had tired out cavalrymen, who could go days and nights in the saddle without a sense of fatigue60, and made Spahis cry quarter, who never gave it by any chance in the battlefield; and she was dancing now like a little Bacchante, as fresh as if she had just sprung up from a long summer day’s rest. Dancing as she would dance only now and then, when caprice took her, and her wayward vivacity61 was at the height, on the green space before a tent full of general officers, on the bare floor of a barrack-room, under the canvas of a fete-day’s booth, or as here in the music-hall of a Cafe.
Marshals had more than once essayed to bribe62 the famous little Friend of the Flag to dance for them, and had failed; but, for a set of soldiers — war-worn, dust-covered, weary with toil63 and stiff with wounds — she would do it till they forgot their ills and got as intoxicated64 with it as with champagne65. For her gros bebees, if they were really in want of it, she would do anything. She would flout66 a star-covered general, box the ears of a brilliant aid, send killing67 missiles of slang at a dandy of a regiment68 de famille, and refuse point-blank a Russian grand duke; but to “mes enfants,” as she was given to calling the rough tigers and grisly veterans of the Army of Africa, Cigarette was never capricious; however mischievously70 she would rally, or contemptuously would rate them, when they deserved it.
And she was dancing for them now.
Her soft, short curls all fluttering, her cheeks all bright with a scarlet72 flush, her eyes as black as night and full of fire; her gay little uniform, with its scarlet and purple, making her look like a fuchsia bell tossed by the wind to and fro, ever so lightly, on its delicate, swaying stem; Cigarette danced with the wild grace of an Almeh, of a Bayadere, of a Nautch girl — as untutored and instinctive73 in her as its song to a bird, as its swiftness to a chamois. To see Cigarette was like drinking light, fiery74 wines, whose intoxication75 was gay as mischief76, and sparkling as themselves. All the warmth of Africa, all the wit of France, all the bohemianism of the Flag, all the caprices of her sex, were in that bewitching dancing. Flashing, fluttering, circling, whirling; glancing like a saber’s gleam, tossing like a flower’s head, bounding like an antelope78, launching like an arrow, darting79 like a falcon80, skimming like a swallow; then for an instant resting as indolently, as languidly, as voluptuously81, as a water-lily rests on the water’s breast — Cigarette en Bacchante no man could resist.
When once she abandoned herself to the afflatus83 of the dance delirium84, she did with her beholders what she would. The famous Cachucha, that made the reverend cardinals85 of Spain fling off their pontifical86 vestments and surrender themselves to the witchery of the castanets and the gleam of the white, twinkling feet, was never more irresistible87, more enchanting88, more full of wild, soft, bizarre, delicious grace. It was a poem of motion and color, an ode to Venus and Bacchus.
All her heart was in it — that heart of a girl and a soldier, of a hawk89 and a kitten, of a Bohemian and an epicurean, of a Lascar and a child, which beat so brightly and so boldly under the dainty gold aiglettes, with which she laced her dashing little uniform.
In the Chambers90 of Zephyrs92, among the Douars of Spahis, on sandy soil under African stars, above the heaped plunder93 brought in from a razzia, in the yellow light of candles fastened to bayonets stuck in the earth at a bivouac, on the broad deal table of a barrack-room full of black-browed conscrits indigenes, amid the thundering echoes of the Marseillaise des Bataillons shouted from the brawny94 chests of Zouaves, Cigarette had danced, danced, danced; till her whole vivacious95 life seemed pressed into one hour, and all the mirth and mischief of her little brigand96’s soul seemed to have found their utterance97 in those tiny, slender, spurred, and restless feet, that never looked to touch the earth which they lit on lightly as a bird alights, only to leave it afresh, with wider, swifter bound, with ceaseless, airy flight.
So she danced now, in the cabaret of the As de Pique. She had a famous group of spectators, not one of whom knew how to hold himself back from springing in to seize her in his arms, and whirl with her down the floor. But it had been often told them by experience that, unless she beckoned98 one out, a blow of her clinched99 hand and a cessation of her impromptu100 pas de seul would be the immediate101 result. Her spectators were renowned102 croc-mitaines; men whose names rang like trumpets103 in the ear of Kabyle and Marabout; men who had fought under the noble colors of the day of Mazagran, or had cherished or emulated104 its traditions; men who had the salient features of all the varied105 species that make up the soldiers of Africa.
There was Ben Arslan, with his crimson106 burnous wrapped round his towering stature107, from whom Moor108 and Jew fled, as before a pestilence109 — the fiercest, deadliest, most voluptuous82 of all the Spahis; brutalized in his drink, merciless in his loves; all an Arab when once back in the desert; with a blow of a scabbard his only payment for forage110, and a thrust of his saber his only apology to husbands; but to the service a slave, and in the combat a lion.
There was Beau–Bruno, a dandy of Turcos, whose snowy turban and olive beauty bewitched half the women of Algeria; who himself affected111 to neglect his conquests, with a supreme112 contempt for those indulgences, but who would have been led out and shot rather than forego the personal adornings for which his adjutant and his capitaine du bureau growled113 unceasing wrath115 at him with every day that shone.
There was Pouffer-deRire, a little Tringlo, the wittiest116, gayest, happiest, sunniest-tempered droll117 in all the army; who would sing the camp-songs so joyously through a burning march that the whole of the battalions118 would break into one refrain as with one throat, and press on laughing, shouting, running, heedless of thirst, or heat, or famine, and as full of monkey-like jests as any gamins.
There was En-ta-maboull, so nicknamed from his love for that unceremonious slang phrase — a Zouave who had the history of a Gil Blas and the talent of a Crichton; the morals of an Abruzzi brigand and the wit of a Falstaff; aquiline-nosed, eagle-eyed, black-skinned as an African, with adventures enough in his life to outvie Munchausen; with a purse always penniless, as the camp sentence runs; who thrust his men through the body as coolly as others kill wasps121; who roasted a shepherd over a camp-fire for contumacy in concealing122 Bedouin where-abouts; yet who would pawn123 his last shirt at the bazaar124 to help a comrade in debt, and had once substituted himself for, and received fifty blows on the loins in the stead of his sworn friend, whom he loved with that love of David for Jonathan which, in Caserne life, is readier found than in Club life.
There was Pattes-du-Tigre, a small, wiry, supple-limbed fire-eater, with a skin like a coal and eyes that sparkled like the live coal’s flame; a veteran of the Joyeux; who could discipline his roughs as a sheepdog his lambs, and who had one curt125 martial126 law for his detachment; brief as Draco’s, and trimmed to suit either an attack on the enemy or the chastisement127 of a mutineer, lying in one single word —“Fire.”
There was Barbe–Grise, a grisly veteran of Zephyrs, who held the highest repute of any in his battalion119 for rushing on to a foe128 with a foot speed that could equal the canter of an Arab’s horse; for having stood alone once the brunt of thirty Bedouins’ attack, and ended by beating them back, though a dozen spearheads were launched into his body and his pantalons garances were filled with his own blood; and for framing a matchless system of night plunder that swept the country bare as a table-rock in an hour, and made the colons130 surrender every hidden treasure, from a pot of gold to a hen’s eggs, from a caldron of couscoussou to a tom-cat.
There was Alcide Echauffourees, also a Zephyr91, who had his nickname from the marvelous changes of costume with which he would pursue his erratic131 expedition, and deceive the very Arabs themselves into believing him a born Mussulman; a very handsome fellow, the Lauzun of his battalion, the Brummel of his Caserne; coquette with his kepi on one side of his graceful132 head, and his mustaches soft as a lady’s hair; whose paradise was a score of dangerous intrigues133, and whose seventh heaven was a duel134 with an infuriated husband; incorrigibly135 lazy, but with the Italian laziness, as of the panther who sleeps in the sun, and with such episodes of romance, mischief, love, and deviltry in his twenty-five years of existence as would leave behind them all the invention of Dumas, pere ou fils.
All these and many more like them were the spectators of Cigarette’s ballet; applauding with the wild hurrah136 of the desert, with the clashing of spurs, with the thunder of feet, with the demoniac shrieks137 of irrepressible adoration138 and delight.
And every now and then her bright eyes would flash over the ring of familiar faces, and glance from them with an impatient disappointment as she danced; her gros bebees were not enough for her. She wanted a Chasseur with white hands and a grave smile to be among them; and she shook back her curls, and flushed angrily as she noted139 his absence, and went on with the pirouettes, the circling flights, the wild, resistless abandonment of her inspirations, till she was like a little desert-hawk that is intoxicated with the scent of prey140 borne down upon the wind, and wheeling like a mad thing in the transparent141 ether and the hot sun-glow.
L’As de Pique was the especial estaminet of the chasses-marais. He was in the house; she knew it; had she not seen him drinking with some others, or rather paying for all, but taking little himself, just as she entered? He was in the house, this mysterious Bel-a-faire-peur — and was not here to see her dance! Not here to see the darling of the Douars; the pride of every Chacal, Zephyr, and Chasseur in Africa; the Amie du Drapeau, who was adored by everyone, from Chefs de Bataillons to fantassins, and toasted by every drinker, from Algiers to Oran, in the Champagne of Messieurs les Generaux as in the Cric of the Loustics round a camp-fire!
He was not there; he was leaning over the little wooden ledge9 of a narrow window in an inner room, from which, one by one, some Spahis and some troopers of his own tribu, with whom he had just been drinking such burgundies and brandies as the place could give, had sloped away, one by one, under the irresistible attraction of the vivandiere. An attraction, however, that had not seduced142 them till all the bottles were emptied; bottles more in number and higher in cost than was prudent143 in a corporal who had but his pay, and that scant144 enough to keep himself, and who had known what it was to find a roll of white bread and a cup of coffee a luxury beyond all reach, and to have to sell his whole effects up to the last thing in his haversack to buy a toss of thin wine when he was dying of thirst, or a slice of melon when he was parching145 with African fever.
But prudence146 had at no time been his specialty147, and the reckless life of Algeria was not one to teach it, with its frank, brotherly fellowship that bound the soldiers of each battalion, or each squadron, so closely in a fraternity of which every member took as freely as he gave; its gay, careless carpe diem camp-philosophy — the unconscious philosophy of men who enjoyed, heart and soul, if they had a chance, because they knew they might be shot dead before another day broke; and its swift and vivid changes that made tirailleurs and troopers one hour rich as a king in loot, in wine, in dark-eyed captives at the sacking of a tribe, to be the next day famished148, scorched150, dragging their weary limbs, or urging their sinking horses through endless sand and burning heat, glad to sell a cartouche if they dared so break regimental orders, or to rifle a hen-roost if they came near one, to get a mouthful of food; changing everything in their haversack for a sup of dirty water, and driven to pay with the thrust of a saber for a lock of wretched grass to keep their beasts alive through the sickliness of a sirocco.
All these taught no caution to any nature normally without it; and the chief thing that his regiment had loved in him whom they named Bel-a-faire-peur from the first day that he had bound his red waist-sash about his loins, and the officers of the bureau had looked over the new volunteer, murmuring admiringly in their teeth “This gallant152 will do great things!” had been that all he had was given, free as the winds, to any who asked or needed.
The all was slender enough. Unless he live by the ingenuity153 of his own manufactures, or by thieving or intimidating154 the people of the country, a French soldier has but barren fare and a hard struggle with hunger and poverty; and it was the one murmur151 against him, when he was lowest in the ranks, that he would never follow the fashion, in wringing156 out by force or threat the possessions of the native population. The one reproach, that made his fellow soldiers impatient and suspicious of him, was that he refused any share in those rough arguments of blows and lunges with which they were accustomed to persuade every victim they came nigh to yield them up all such treasures of food, or drink, or riches, from sheep’s liver and couscoussou, to Morocco carpets and skins of brandy and coins hid in the sand, that the Arabs might be so unhappy as to own in their reach. That the fattest pullet of the poorest Bedouin was as sacred to him as the banquet of his own Chef d’Escadron, let him be ever so famished after the longest day’s march, was an eccentricity157, and an insult to the usages of the corps158, for which not even his daring and his popularity could wholly procure159 him pardon.
But this defect in him was counterbalanced by the lavishness160 with which his pay was lent, given, or spent in the very moment of its receipt. If a man of his tribu wanted anything, he knew that Bel-a-faire-peur would offer his last sous to aid him, or, if money were all gone, would sell the last trifle he possessed161 to get enough to assist his comrade. It was a virtue162 which went far to vouch163 for all others in the view of his lawless, open-handed brethren of the barracks and the Camp, and made them forgive him many moments when the mood of silence and the habit of solitude164, not uncommon165 with him, would otherwise have incensed166 a fraternity with whom to live apart is the deadliest charge, and the sentence of excommunication against any who dare to provoke it.
One of those moods was on him now.
He had had a drinking bout49 with the men who had left him, and had laughed as gayly and as carelessly, if not as riotously167, as any of them at the wild mirth, the unbridled license, the amatory recitations, and the Bacchic odes in their lawless sapir, that had ushered168 the night in while his wines unlocked the tongues and flowed down the throats of the fierce Arab–Spahis and the French cavalrymen. But now he leaned out of the casement169, with his arms folded on the sill and a short pipe in his teeth, thoughtful and solitary170 after the orgy whose heavy fumes and clouds of smoke still hung heavily on the air within.
The window looked on a little, dull, close courtyard, where the yellow leaves of a withered171 gourd172 trailed drearily173 over the gray, uneven174 stones. The clamor of the applause and the ring of the music from the dancing-hall echoed with a whirling din77 in his ear, and made in sharper, stranger contrast the quiet of the narrow court with its strip of starry175 sky above its four high walls.
He leaned there musing176 and grave, hearing little of the noise about him; there was always noise of some sort in the clangor and tumult of barrack or bivouac life, and he had grown to heed120 it no more than he heeded177 the roar of desert beasts about him, when he slept in the desert or the hills, but looked dreamily out at the little shadowy square, with the sear gourd leaves and the rough, misshapen stones. His present and his future were neither much brighter than the gloomy, walled-in den14 on which he gazed.
Twelve years before, when he had been ordered into the exercise-ground for the first time, to see of what mettle178 he was made, the instructor179 had watched him with amazed eyes, muttering to himself, “This is no raw recruit — this fellow! What a rider! Dieu de Dieu! he knows more than we can teach. He has served before now — served in some emperor’s picked guard!”
And when he had passed from the exercising-ground to the campaign, the Army had found him one of the most splendid of its many splendid soldiers; and in the daily folios there was no page of achievements, of exploits, of services, of dangers, that showed a more brilliant array of military deserts than his. Yet, for many years, he had been passed by unnoticed. He had now not even the cross on his chest, and he had only slowly and with infinite difficulty been promoted so far as he stood now — a Corporal in the Chasseurs d’Afrique — a step only just accorded him because wounds innumerable and distinctions without number in countless180 skirmishes had made it impossible to cast him wholly aside any longer.
The cause lay in the implacable enmity of one man — his Chief.
Far-sundered as they were by position, and rarely as they could come into actual contact, that merciless weight of animosity, from the great man to his soldier had lain on the other like iron, and clogged181 him from all advancement182. His thoughts were of it now. Only today, at an inspection183, the accidentally broken saddle-girth of a boy-conscript had furnished pretext184 for a furious reprimand, a volley of insolent185 opprobrium186 hurled187 at himself, under which he had had to sit mute in his saddle, with no other sign that he was human beneath the outrage188 than the blood that would, despite himself, flush the pale bronze of his forehead. His thoughts were on it now.
“There are many losses that are bitter enough,” he mused; “but there is not one so bitter as the loss of the right to resent!”
A whirlwind of laughter, so loud that it drowned the music of the shrill189 violins and thundering drums, echoed through the rooms and shook him from his reverie.
“They are bons enfants,” he thought, with a half smile, as he listened; “they are more honest in their mirth, as in their wrath, than we ever were in that old world of mine.”
Amid the shouts, the crash, the tumult, the gay, ringing voice of Cigarette rose distinct. She had apparently190 paused in her dancing to exchange one of those passes of arms which were her specialty, in the Sabir that she, a child of the regiments191 of Africa, had known as her mother tongue.
“You call him a misanthrope192?” she cried disdainfully. “And you have been drinking at his expense, you rascal194?”
The grumbled195 assent196 of the accused was inaudible.
“Ingrate!” pursued the scornful, triumphant197 voice of the Vivandiere; “you would pawn your mother’s grave-clothes! You would eat your children, en fricassee! You would sell your father’s bones for a draught198 of brandy!”
The screams of mirth redoubled; Cigarette’s style of withering199 eloquence200 was suited to all her auditors’ tastes, and under the chorus of laughs at his cost, her infuriated adversary201 plucked up courage and roared forth202 a defiance203.
“White hands and a brunette’s face are fine things for a soldier. He kills women — he kills women with his lady’s grace!”
“He does not pull their ears to make them give him their money, and beat them with a stick if they don’t fry his eggs fast enough, as you do, Barbe–Grise,” retorted the contemptuous tones of the champion of the absent. “White hands, morbleu! Well, his hands are not always in other people’s pockets as yours are!”
This forcible recrimination is in high relish204 in the Caserne; the screams of mirth redoubled. Barbe–Grise was a redoubtable205 authority whom the wildest dare-devil in his brigade dared not contradict, and he was getting the worst of it under the lash16 of Cigarette’s tongue, to the infinite glee of the whole ballroom206.
“Dame! — his hands cannot work as mine can!” growled her opponent.
“Oh, ho!” cried the little lady, with supreme disdain193; “they don’t twist cocks’ throats and skin rabbits they have thieved, perhaps, like yours; but they would wring155 your neck before breakfast to get an appetite, if they could touch such canaille.”
“Canaille?” thundered the insulted Barbe–Grise. “If you were but a man!”
“What would you do to me, brigand?” screamed Cigarette, in fits of laughter. “Give me fifty blows of a stick, as your officers gave you last week for stealing his gun from a new soldier?”
A growl114 like a lion’s from the badgered Barbe–Grise shook the walls; she had cast her mischievous69 stroke at him on a very sore point; the unhappy young conscript’s rifle having been first dexterously207 thieved from him, and then as dexterously sold to an Arab.
“Sacre bleu!” he roared; “you are in love with this conqueror208 of women — this soldier aristocrat209!”
The only answer to this unbearable210 insult was a louder tumult of laughter; a crash, a splash, and a volley of oaths from Barbe–Grise. Cigarette had launched a bottle of vin ordinaire at him, blinded his eyes, and drenched211 his beard with the red torrent212 and the shower of glass slivers213, and was back again dancing like a little Bacchante, and singing at the top of her sweet, lark-like voice.
At the sound of the animated214 altercation215, not knowing but what one of his own troopers might be the delinquent216, he who leaned out of the little casement moved forward to the doorway217 of the dancing room; he did not guess that it was himself whom she had defended against the onslaught of the Zephyr, Barbe–Grise.
His height rose far above the French soldiers, and above most even of the lofty-statured Spahis, and her rapid glance flashed over him at once. “Did he hear?” she wondered; the scarlet flush of exercise and excitement deepened on her clear brown cheek, that had never blushed at the coarsest jests or the broadest love words of the barrack-life that had been about her ever since her eyes first opened in her infancy218 to laugh at the sun-gleam on a cuirassier’s corslet among the baggage-wagons that her mother followed. She thought he had not heard; his face was grave, a little weary, and his gaze, as it fell on her, was abstracted.
“Oh!” thought Cigarette, with a flash of hot wrath superseding219 her momentary220 and most rare embarrassment221. “You are looking at me and not thinking of me! We will soon change that!”
Such an insult she had never been subjected to, from the first day when she had danced for sweetmeats on the top of a great drum when she was three years old, in the middle of a circular camp of Tirailleurs. It sent fresh nerve into her little limbs. It made her eyes flash like so much fire, it gave her a millionfold more grace, more abandon, more heedlessness. She stamped her tiny, spurred foot petulantly222.
“Quicker! Quicker!” she cried; and as the musician obeyed her, she whirled, she spun224, she bounded, she seemed to live in air, while her soft curls blew off her brow, and her white teeth glanced, and her cheeks glowed with a carmine225 glow, and the little gold aiglettes broke across her chest with the beating of her heart that throbbed226 like a bird’s heart when it is wild with the first breath of Spring.
She had pitted herself against him; and she won — so far.
The vivacity, the impetuosity, the antelope elegance227, the voluptuous repose228 that now and then broke the ceaseless, sparkling movement of her dancing, caught his eyes and fixed229 them on her; it was bewitching, and it bewitched him for the moment; he watched her as in other days he had watched the fantastic witcheries of eastern alme, and the ballet charms of opera dancers.
This young Bohemian of the Barrack danced in the dusky glare and the tavern230 fumes of the As de Pique to a set of soldiers in their shirt-sleeves with their short, black pipes in their mouths, with as matchless a grace as ever the first ballerinas of Europe danced before sovereigns and dukes on the boards of Paris, Vienna, or London. It was the eastern bamboula of the Harems, to which was added all the elastic231 joyance, all the gay brilliancy of the blood of France.
Suddenly she lifted both her hands above her head.
It was the signal well known, the signal of permission to join in that wild vertigo232 for which every one of her spectators was panting; their pipes were flung away, their kepis tossed off their heads, the music clashed louder and faster and more fiery with every sound; the chorus of the Marseillaise des Bataillons thundered from a hundred voices — they danced as only men can dance who serve under the French flag, and live under the African sun. Two, only, still looked on — the Chasseur d’Afrique, and a veteran of the 10th company, lamed233 for life at Mazagran.
“Are you a stupid? Don’t you dance?” muttered the veteran Zephyr to his silent companion.
The Chasseur turned and smiled a little.
“I prefer a bamboula whose music is the cannon234, bon pere.”
“Bravo! Yet she is pretty enough to tempt71 you?”
“Yes; too pretty to be unsexed by such a life.”
His thoughts went to a woman he had loved well: a young Arab, with eyes like the softness of dark waters, who had fallen to him once in a razzia as his share of spoil, and for whom he had denied himself cards, or wine, or tobacco, or an hour at the Cafe, or anything that alleviated235 the privation and severity of his lot as “simple soldat,” which he had been then, that she might have such few and slender comforts as he could give her from his miserable236 pay. She was dead. Her death had been the darkest passage in his life in Africa — but the flute-like music of her voice seemed to come on his ear now. This girl-soldier had little charm for him after the sweet, silent, tender grace of his lost Zelme.
He turned and touched on the shoulder a Chasseur who had paused a moment to get breath in the headlong whirl:
“Come, we are to be with the Djied by dawn!”
The trooper obeyed instantly; they were ordered to visit and remain with a Bedouin camp some thirty miles away on the naked plateau; a camp professedly submissive, but not so much so but that the Bureau deemed it well to profit themselves by the services of the corporal, whose knowledge of Arabic, whose friendship with the tribes, and whose superior intelligence in all such missions rendered him peculiarly fitted for errands that required diplomacy237 and address as well as daring and fire.
He went thoughtfully out of the noisy, reeking238 ballroom into the warm luster239 of the Algerian night; as he went, Cigarette, who had been nearer than he knew, flashed full in his eyes the fury of her own sparkling ones, while, with a contemptuous laugh, she struck him on the lips with the cigar she hurled at him.
“Unsexed? Pouf! If you have a woman’s face, may I not have a man’s soul? It is only a fair exchange. I am no kitten, bon zig; take care of my talons129!”
The words were spoken with the fierceness of Africa; she had too much in her of the spirit of the Zephyrs and the Chacals, with whom her youth had been spent from her cradle up, not to be dangerous when roused; she was off at a bound, and in the midst of the mad whirl again before he could attempt to soften240 or efface241 the words she had overheard, and the last thing he saw of her was in a cloud of Zouaves and Spahis with the wild uproar242 of the music shaking riotous echoes from the rafters.
But when he had passed out of sight Cigarette shook herself free from the dancers with petulant223 impatience243; she was not to be allured244 by flattery or drawn245 by entreaty246 back amongst them; she set her delicate pearly teeth tight, and vowed247 with a reckless, contemptuous, impetuous oath that she was tired; that she was sick of them; that she was no strolling player to caper248 for them with a tambourine249; and with that declaration made her way out alone into the little open court under the stars, so cool, so still after the heat, and riot, and turbulence250 within.
There she dropped on a broad stone step, and leaned her head on her hand.
“Unsexed! Unsexed! What did he mean?” she thought, while for the first time, with a vague sense of his meaning, tears welled hot and bitter into her sunny eyes, while the pained color burned in her face. Those tears were the first that she had ever known, and they were cruel ones, though they lasted but a little time; there was too much fire in the young Bohemian of the Army not to scorch149 them as they rose. She stamped her foot on the stones passionately251, and her teeth were set like a little terrier’s as she muttered:
“Unsexed! Unsexed! Bah, Monsieur Aristocrat! If you think so, you shall find your thought right; you shall find Cigarette can hate as men hate, and take her revenge as soldiers take theirs!”
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1
mused
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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2
foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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3
beguiled
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| v.欺骗( beguile的过去式和过去分词 )；使陶醉；使高兴；消磨（时间等） | |
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4
bondage
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| n.奴役，束缚 | |
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5
banishment
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| n.放逐，驱逐 | |
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6
mules
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| 骡( mule的名词复数 )； 拖鞋； 顽固的人； 越境运毒者 | |
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7
chatter
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| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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8
saluted
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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9
ledge
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| n.壁架，架状突出物；岩架，岩礁 | |
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10
fiat
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| n.命令，法令，批准；vt.批准，颁布 | |
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11
dice
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| n.骰子；vt.把（食物）切成小方块，冒险 | |
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12
rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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13
aisles
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| n. (席位间的)通道, 侧廊 | |
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14
den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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15
dominion
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| n.统治，管辖，支配权；领土，版图 | |
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16
lash
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| v.系牢；鞭打；猛烈抨击；n.鞭打；眼睫毛 | |
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17
eastward
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| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
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18
westward
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| n.西方，西部；adj.西方的，向西的；adv.向西 | |
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19
pique
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| v.伤害…的自尊心，使生气 n.不满，生气 | |
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20
mosques
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| 清真寺； 伊斯兰教寺院，清真寺； 清真寺，伊斯兰教寺院( mosque的名词复数 ) | |
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21
domes
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| n.圆屋顶( dome的名词复数 )；像圆屋顶一样的东西；圆顶体育场 | |
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22
arabesques
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| n.阿拉伯式花饰( arabesque的名词复数 )；错综图饰；阿拉伯图案；阿拉贝斯克芭蕾舞姿（独脚站立，手前伸，另一脚一手向后伸） | |
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23
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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24
blazoned
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| v.广布( blazon的过去式和过去分词 )；宣布；夸示；装饰 | |
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25
reverent
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| adj.恭敬的，虔诚的 | |
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26
impudent
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| adj.鲁莽的，卑鄙的，厚颜无耻的 | |
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27
warriors
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| 武士，勇士，战士( warrior的名词复数 ) | |
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28
galleys
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| n.平底大船，战舰( galley的名词复数 )；（船上或航空器上的）厨房 | |
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29
smite
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| v.重击；彻底击败；n.打；尝试；一点儿 | |
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30
rivalry
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| n.竞争，竞赛，对抗 | |
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31
majestic
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| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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32
tempestuous
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| adj.狂暴的 | |
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33
hordes
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| n.移动着的一大群( horde的名词复数 )；部落 | |
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34
flaunted
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| v.炫耀，夸耀( flaunt的过去式和过去分词 )；有什么能耐就施展出来 | |
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35
lustrous
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| adj.有光泽的；光辉的 | |
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36
license
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| n.执照，许可证，特许；v.许可，特许 | |
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37
heroism
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| n.大无畏精神，英勇 | |
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38
brutality
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| n.野蛮的行为，残忍，野蛮 | |
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39
swelled
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| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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40
arid
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| adj.干旱的；(土地)贫瘠的 | |
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41
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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42
joyously
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| ad.快乐地, 高兴地 | |
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43
onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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44
gaudily
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| adv.俗丽地 | |
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45
mimicry
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| n.（生物）拟态，模仿 | |
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46
flaring
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| a.火焰摇曳的，过份艳丽的 | |
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47
adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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48
vividly
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| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
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49
bout
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| n.侵袭，发作；一次(阵，回)；拳击等比赛 | |
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50
trumpery
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| n.无价值的杂物；adj.（物品）中看不中用的 | |
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51
fumes
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| n.(强烈而刺激的)气味，气体 | |
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52
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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53
riotous
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| adj.骚乱的；狂欢的 | |
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54
pealed
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| v.（使）（钟等）鸣响，（雷等）发出隆隆声( peal的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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55
rhythmical
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| adj.有节奏的，有韵律的 | |
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56
cadence
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| n.（说话声调的）抑扬顿挫 | |
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57
chattered
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| （人）喋喋不休( chatter的过去式 )； 唠叨； （牙齿）打战； （机器）震颤 | |
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58
gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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59
tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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60
fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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61
vivacity
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| n.快活，活泼，精神充沛 | |
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62
bribe
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| n.贿赂；v.向…行贿，买通 | |
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63
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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64
intoxicated
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| 喝醉的，极其兴奋的 | |
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65
champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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66
flout
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| v./n.嘲弄，愚弄，轻视 | |
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67
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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68
regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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69
mischievous
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| adj.调皮的，恶作剧的，有害的，伤人的 | |
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70
mischievously
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| adv.有害地；淘气地 | |
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71
tempt
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| vt.引诱，勾引，吸引，引起…的兴趣 | |
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72
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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73
instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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74
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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75
intoxication
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| n.wild excitement;drunkenness；poisoning | |
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76
mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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77
din
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| n.喧闹声，嘈杂声 | |
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78
antelope
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| n.羚羊；羚羊皮 | |
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79
darting
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的现在分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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80
falcon
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| n.隼，猎鹰 | |
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81
voluptuously
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| adv.风骚地，体态丰满地 | |
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82
voluptuous
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| adj.肉欲的，骄奢淫逸的 | |
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83
afflatus
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| n.灵感，神感 | |
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84
delirium
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| n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
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85
cardinals
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| 红衣主教( cardinal的名词复数 )； 红衣凤头鸟（见于北美，雄鸟为鲜红色）； 基数 | |
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86
pontifical
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| adj.自以为是的，武断的 | |
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87
irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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88
enchanting
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| a.讨人喜欢的 | |
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89
hawk
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| n.鹰，骗子；鹰派成员 | |
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90
chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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91
zephyr
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| n.和风，微风 | |
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92
zephyrs
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| n.和风，微风( zephyr的名词复数 ) | |
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93
plunder
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| vt.劫掠财物，掠夺；n.劫掠物，赃物；劫掠 | |
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94
brawny
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| adj.强壮的 | |
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95
vivacious
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| adj.活泼的，快活的 | |
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96
brigand
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| n.土匪，强盗 | |
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97
utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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98
beckoned
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| v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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99
clinched
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| v.（尤指两人）互相紧紧抱[扭]住( clinch的过去式和过去分词 )；解决（争端、交易），达成（协议） | |
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100
impromptu
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| adj.即席的，即兴的；adv.即兴的(地)，无准备的(地) | |
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101
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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102
renowned
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| adj.著名的，有名望的，声誉鹊起的 | |
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103
trumpets
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| 喇叭( trumpet的名词复数 )； 小号； 喇叭形物； （尤指）绽开的水仙花 | |
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104
emulated
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| v.与…竞争( emulate的过去式和过去分词 )；努力赶上；计算机程序等仿真；模仿 | |
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105
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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106
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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107
stature
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| n.（高度）水平，（高度）境界，身高，身材 | |
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108
moor
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| n.荒野，沼泽；vt.(使)停泊；vi.停泊 | |
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109
pestilence
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| n.瘟疫 | |
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110
forage
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| n.(牛马的)饲料，粮草；v.搜寻，翻寻 | |
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111
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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112
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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113
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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114
growl
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| v.（狗等）嗥叫，（炮等）轰鸣；n.嗥叫，轰鸣 | |
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115
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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116
wittiest
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| 机智的，言辞巧妙的，情趣横生的( witty的最高级 ) | |
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117
droll
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| adj.古怪的，好笑的 | |
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118
battalions
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| n.（陆军的）一营（大约有一千兵士）( battalion的名词复数 )；协同作战的部队；军队；（组织在一起工作的）队伍 | |
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119
battalion
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| n.营；部队；大队(的人) | |
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120
heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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121
wasps
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| 黄蜂( wasp的名词复数 )； 胡蜂； 易动怒的人； 刻毒的人 | |
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122
concealing
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，遮住( conceal的现在分词 ) | |
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123
pawn
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| n.典当，抵押，小人物，走卒；v.典当，抵押 | |
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124
bazaar
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| n.集市，商店集中区 | |
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125
curt
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| adj.简短的，草率的 | |
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126
martial
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| adj.战争的，军事的，尚武的，威武的 | |
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127
chastisement
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| n.惩罚 | |
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128
foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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129
talons
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| n.（尤指猛禽的）爪( talon的名词复数 )；（如爪般的）手指；爪状物；锁簧尖状突出部 | |
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130
colons
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| n.冒号( colon的名词复数 )；结肠 | |
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131
erratic
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| adj.古怪的，反复无常的，不稳定的 | |
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132
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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133
intrigues
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| n.密谋策划( intrigue的名词复数 )；神秘气氛；引人入胜的复杂情节v.搞阴谋诡计( intrigue的第三人称单数 )；激起…的好奇心 | |
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134
duel
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| n./v.决斗；(双方的)斗争 | |
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135
incorrigibly
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| adv.无法矫正地；屡教不改地；无可救药地；不能矫正地 | |
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136
hurrah
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| int.好哇，万岁，乌拉 | |
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137
shrieks
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| n.尖叫声( shriek的名词复数 )v.尖叫( shriek的第三人称单数 ) | |
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138
adoration
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| n.爱慕，崇拜 | |
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139
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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140
prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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141
transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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142
seduced
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| 诱奸( seduce的过去式和过去分词 )； 勾引； 诱使堕落； 使入迷 | |
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143
prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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144
scant
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| adj.不充分的，不足的；v.减缩，限制，忽略 | |
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145
parching
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| adj.烘烤似的，焦干似的v.（使）焦干， （使）干透( parch的现在分词 )；使（某人）极口渴 | |
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146
prudence
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| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
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147
specialty
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| n.(speciality)特性，特质；专业，专长 | |
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148
famished
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| adj.饥饿的 | |
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149
scorch
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| v.烧焦，烤焦；高速疾驶；n.烧焦处，焦痕 | |
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150
scorched
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| 烧焦，烤焦( scorch的过去式和过去分词 )； 使（植物）枯萎，把…晒枯； 高速行驶； 枯焦 | |
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151
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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153
ingenuity
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| n.别出心裁；善于发明创造 | |
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154
intimidating
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| vt.恐吓，威胁( intimidate的现在分词) | |
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155
wring
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| n.扭绞；v.拧，绞出，扭 | |
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156
wringing
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| 淋湿的，湿透的 | |
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157
eccentricity
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| n.古怪，反常，怪癖 | |
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158
corps
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| n.(通信等兵种的)部队；(同类作的)一组 | |
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159
procure
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| vt.获得，取得，促成；vi.拉皮条 | |
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160
lavishness
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| n.浪费，过度 | |
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161
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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162
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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163
vouch
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| v.担保；断定；n.被担保者 | |
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164
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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165
uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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166
incensed
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| 盛怒的 | |
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167
riotously
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| adv.骚动地，暴乱地 | |
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168
ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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169
casement
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| n.竖铰链窗；窗扉 | |
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170
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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171
withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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172
gourd
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| n.葫芦 | |
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173
drearily
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| 沉寂地，厌倦地，可怕地 | |
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174
uneven
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| adj.不平坦的，不规则的，不均匀的 | |
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175
starry
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| adj.星光照耀的, 闪亮的 | |
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176
musing
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| n. 沉思，冥想 adj. 沉思的, 冥想的 动词muse的现在分词形式 | |
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177
heeded
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| v.听某人的劝告，听从( heed的过去式和过去分词 )；变平，使（某物）变平( flatten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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178
mettle
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| n.勇气，精神 | |
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179
instructor
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| n.指导者，教员，教练 | |
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180
countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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181
clogged
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| （使）阻碍( clog的过去式和过去分词 )； 淤滞 | |
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182
advancement
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| n.前进，促进，提升 | |
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183
inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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184
pretext
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| n.借口，托词 | |
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185
insolent
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| adj.傲慢的，无理的 | |
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186
opprobrium
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| n.耻辱，责难 | |
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187
hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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188
outrage
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| n.暴行，侮辱，愤怒；vt.凌辱，激怒 | |
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189
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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190
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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191
regiments
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| （军队的）团( regiment的名词复数 )； 大量的人或物 | |
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192
misanthrope
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| n.恨人类的人；厌世者 | |
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193
disdain
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| n.鄙视，轻视；v.轻视，鄙视，不屑 | |
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194
rascal
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| n.流氓；不诚实的人 | |
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195
grumbled
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| 抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
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196
assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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197
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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198
draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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199
withering
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| 使人畏缩的，使人害羞的，使人难堪的 | |
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200
eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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201
adversary
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| adj.敌手，对手 | |
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202
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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203
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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204
relish
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| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
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205
redoubtable
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| adj.可敬的；可怕的 | |
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206
ballroom
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| n.舞厅 | |
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207
dexterously
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| adv.巧妙地，敏捷地 | |
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208
conqueror
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| n.征服者，胜利者 | |
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209
aristocrat
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| n.贵族，有贵族气派的人，上层人物 | |
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210
unbearable
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| adj.不能容忍的；忍受不住的 | |
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211
drenched
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| adj.湿透的；充满的v.使湿透( drench的过去式和过去分词 )；在某人（某物）上大量使用（某液体） | |
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212
torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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213
slivers
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| （切割或断裂下来的）薄长条，碎片( sliver的名词复数 ) | |
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214
animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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215
altercation
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| n.争吵，争论 | |
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216
delinquent
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| adj.犯法的，有过失的；n.违法者 | |
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217
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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218
infancy
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| n.婴儿期；幼年期；初期 | |
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219
superseding
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| 取代，接替( supersede的现在分词 ) | |
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220
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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221
embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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222
petulantly
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223
petulant
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| adj.性急的，暴躁的 | |
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224
spun
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| v.纺，杜撰，急转身 | |
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225
carmine
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| n.深红色，洋红色 | |
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226
throbbed
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| 抽痛( throb的过去式和过去分词 )； （心脏、脉搏等）跳动 | |
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227
elegance
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| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
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228
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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229
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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230
tavern
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| n.小旅馆，客栈；小酒店 | |
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231
elastic
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| n.橡皮圈，松紧带；adj.有弹性的；灵活的 | |
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232
vertigo
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| n.眩晕 | |
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233
lamed
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| 希伯莱语第十二个字母 | |
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234
cannon
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| n.大炮，火炮；飞机上的机关炮 | |
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235
alleviated
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| 减轻，缓解，缓和( alleviate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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236
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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237
diplomacy
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| n.外交；外交手腕，交际手腕 | |
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238
reeking
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| v.发出浓烈的臭气( reek的现在分词 )；散发臭气；发出难闻的气味 (of sth)；明显带有（令人不快或生疑的跡象） | |
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239
luster
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| n.光辉；光泽，光亮；荣誉 | |
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240
soften
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| v.(使)变柔软；(使)变柔和 | |
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241
efface
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| v.擦掉，抹去 | |
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242
uproar
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| n.骚动，喧嚣，鼎沸 | |
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243
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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244
allured
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| 诱引，吸引( allure的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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245
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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246
entreaty
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| n.恳求，哀求 | |
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247
vowed
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| 起誓，发誓（vow的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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248
caper
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| v.雀跃，欢蹦；n.雀跃，跳跃；续随子，刺山柑花蕾；嬉戏 | |
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249
tambourine
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| n.铃鼓，手鼓 | |
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250
turbulence
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| n.喧嚣，狂暴，骚乱，湍流 | |
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251
passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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