et and their jingling bangles. After a
deafening storm of applause, their flashing smiles swept the audience,
and, linking arms, they sauntered off between the tables under the
trees.

"I wish to dance," remarked Sengoun. "My legs will kick over something
if I don't."

They were playing an American dance--a sort of skating step; people
rose; couple after couple took the floor; and Sengoun looked around
for a partner. He discovered no eligible partner likely to favour him
without a quarrel with her escort; and he was debating with Neeland
whether a row would be worth while, when the gipsy girls sauntered
by.

"Oh," he said gaily, "a pretty Tzigane can save my life if she will!"

And the girls laughed and Sengoun led one of them out at a reckless
pace.

The other smiled and looked at Neeland, and, seating herself, leaned
on the table watching the whirl on the floor.

"Don't you dance?" she asked, with a sidelong glance out of her
splendid black eyes.

"Yes; but I'm likely to do most of my dancing on your pretty feet."

"_Merci!_ In that case I prefer a cigarette."

She selected one from his case, lighted it, folded her arms on the
table, and continued to gaze at the dancers.

"I'm tired tonight," she remarked.

"You dance beautifully."

"Thank you."

Sengoun, flushed and satisfied, came back with his gipsy partner when
the music ceased.

"Now I hope we may have some more singing!" he exclaimed, as they
seated themselves and a waiter filled their great, bubble-shaped
glasses.

And he did sing at the top of his delightful voice when the balalaikas
swept out into a ringing and familiar song, and the two gipsy girls
sang, too--laughed and sang, holding the frosty goblets high in the
sparkling light.

It was evident to Neeland that the song was a favourite one with
Russians. Sengoun was quite overcome; they all touched goblets.

"Brava, my little Tziganes!" he said with happy emotion. "My little
compatriots! My little tawny panthers of the Caucasus! What do you
call yourselves in this bandbox of a country where two steps backward
take you across any frontier?"

His dancing partner laughed till her sequins jingled from throat to
ankle:

"They call us Fifi and Nini," she replied. "Ask yourself why!"

"For example," added the other girl, "we rise from this table and
thank you. There is nothing further. _C'est fini--c'est
Fifi--Nini--comprenez-vous, Prince Erlik?_"

"Hi! What?" exclaimed Sengoun. "I'