The Black Cross Part 20

"That is better."

The gypsey ran his fingers over the strings in exact imitation of Petrokoff. The tone was thin, and his fingers moved stiffly as if weighted. His face wore an anxious expression. "Dear me!" he exclaimed, "It is more difficult than I imagined. Does every violinist hold his bow like that?"

Petrokoff cleared his throat and his chest swelled a little under his coat. "Bradjaga, I have taught the violin for twenty-five years--there is no other way."

The gypsey sighed. "My own way is so much simpler," he said, "Look!"

His fingers flew over the neck of the Stradivarius in harmonics, swift and sure as the flight of a hawk; his bow seemed to leap in his hand, and when he reached the top note of all, high, clear and sweet, he trilled on it softly, swelling out into a tone pure and strange like the sighing of wind in the tree-tops. The hair fell over his brows, and for a moment there was silence in the room.

Kaya had stopped coughing; she had clapped one hand over her mouth to still the sound, and her blue eyes were fixed on one of the ladies, who was staring hard at the gypsey. They were listening intently.

Petrokoff stood with his hands clasped over his waistcoat, his head a little to one side, nodding gently from time to time, as if listening to a pupil in his cla.s.s room.

"Yes," he began, "as I said before, you have talent. I think I could make something of you; but your bowing is bad, very bad; your method is abominable! It would never be allowed in the Conservatory; and your harmonics--bah!"

He shrugged his shoulders, spreading his fat fingers in disgust. "Give me the violin again; it is too good an instrument for a boy. If you come to Moscow, I will give you two hundred roubles, just out of charity. The instrument isn't worth the half, as you know. But I have a good heart, I am interested in your progress. With the two hundred roubles you can pay for your lodging and food. The harmonics--listen!

They should sound like this."

He played a few notes on the top of the instrument, shrill and sharp.

The gypsey stretched out his arms eagerly.

"Let me try, Barin!" he cried, "So--so?"

The harmonics seemed to squeak in derision; they flatted, and the sound was like the wheels of a cart unoiled.

"Stop!" cried Petrokoff, "It is horrible! For the love of heaven, Bradjaga, stop!"

The gypsey drew the bow slowly and lingeringly over the flatted notes.

It was like the wail of a soul in inferno; a shriek like a devil laughing.

"Ha-ha!" cried Velasco. "Now I understand! That is what you were after, Barin?"

Petrokoff eyed him sharply.

The boy's face was the picture of innocence; the mouth was slightly puckered as if with concentrated effort; his eyes were open and frank; he was smiling a little triumphantly like a child that is sure of pleasing and waiting for praise.

"You play atrociously," said Petrokoff severely. "I shall keep you six months on finger exercises alone. You play false!"

The light died out of the boy's face:

"Barin," he said humbly, "In Moscow you will teach me to play like yourself. I am nothing but an ignorant bradjaga as you see."

Suddenly he put his hand to his mouth and began to cough: "The dust!"

he said, "It has gone to my throat all at once. Eh--what? Excuse me a moment, Barin."

Kaya's yellow curls were close to his ear and she whispered something.

She was standing behind his chair and, as she stooped to him, her hand rested on his shoulder and trembled slightly: "Velasco," she said, in a voice like a breath, "Come, I beseech you! You are playing with danger, with death! They will surely suspect; ah, come!"

The gypsey tossed his head, like a young horse when some one is trying to force the bit between his teeth; his chin stiffened and an obstinate look came into his eyes. He brushed her aside: "No," he murmured, "Go away, Kaya! He is a stupid fool, can't you see? I am not half through; it is heavenly to hear him! Go--go! I want to tease him some more; I tell you I will."

The younger gypsey sank back on the floor cross-legged, half hidden by the chair and the form of Velasco. Her hands were still trembling and she put them in the pockets of her jacket, trying to force her red lips to a whistle; but no sound came through the arch. She heard the voice of Velasco smooth, and wicked, and humble, just above her.

"There is a musician," he was saying, "Perhaps you have heard of him?

His name is Velasco."

"Bos.h.!.+" said Petrokoff in an angry tone, and then he blew his nose loudly. "Velasco--bos.h.!.+ He is only a trickster! There is a fad nowadays among the ladies to run after him." He bowed to the three ladies in turn mockingly, "My friends here tried to get tickets last week in St. Petersburg, but the house was sold out. Bosh--I tell you!

I wouldn't cross the street to hear a virtuoso like that!"

The gypsey gave a queer sound like a chuckle: "He does not play as you do, of course, Barin!"

"I!" cried Petrokoff. He twirled his mustache fiercely. "The Russians are like children, they run after every new plaything. The Pole is a new plaything, a toy--bah! I have been before the public twenty-five years. I am an artist; I am one of the old School. I--"

"Go away, Kaya!" whispered Velasco, "This is grand! I haven't enjoyed myself so much for an age. Go away, little one; don't be frightened.

It is all right, only don't cough too much, or the ladies will see you are laughing.

"Ah, Velasco, come--come!"

"Go away, child! He is opening his mouth again, the fat monster!

Watch the 'I' leap out! If he plays again I shall die in a fit; he handles the bow like the fin of a shark. Be still, Kaya--go!"

"Velasco--listen, won't you listen? The ladies--ah, don't turn your head away--the one with the grey bonnet is the Countess Galli. I have seen her often at my father's house, Velasco; and she stares first at me, then at you. She suspects."

"The fright, with the long nose?"

"Yes, and the pince-nez."

"She is staring now. Make up a face at her, Kaya; that will scare her away. She has never seen you in boy's clothes before, I warrant, with your hands in your pockets, and your curls clipped short, and a cap on the back of your head--ha ha!"

"Velasco, don't laugh. Don't you see she is whispering to Petrokoff now and looking at us through her pince-nez?"

"So she is, the vixen, the miserable gossip! Slip out towards the door quietly, Kaya, while they are talking. I will follow directly. Wait at the back of the stable by the hay loft."

The gypsey stood up suddenly and approached the little group of ladies, bowing to them and to Petrokoff. He was wrapping the violin in its cover and laying it away in its case as he moved. "Pardon, Barin," he said softly, "If you will wait for me here, I shall return presently.

My supper is waiting. Perhaps after an hour you will still like to purchase the violin. See, it is really not a bad instrument--if you are in earnest about the two hundred roubles?"

Petrokoff stepped eagerly forward. "Now," he said, "Give it to me now.

I will hand you the money at once in notes."

"Presently, Barin," said Velasco still softly, "I will return directly.

If your Excellency will permit--"

He slipped past the outstretched arm of the musician; bowed again to the lady in the grey bonnet, staring straight into the gold-rimmed lorgnette; and the door closed behind him. Running like a grey-hound, Velasco darted through the corridor and around by the side of the inn to the stable. It was dark there, deserted, and beyond, the snow glittered on the meadows.

"Kaya--are you there?"

"Here, Velasco."

"Have you the knapsack?"

"Yes--yes, here it is."