member in her prayers.

You have done well, monsieur. Now, your task is ended. Go back to the
Western World and leave us to end this battle between ourselves.

It is written and confirmed by the stars that what the Eastern World
has sown it shall now reap all alone.

We Tziganes know. You should not mock at our knowledge. For there is a
dark star, Erlik, named from the Prince of Hell. And last night it was
in conjunction with the red star, Mars. None saw it; none has ever
beheld the dark star, Erlik.

But we Tziganes know. We have known for five thousand years that Erlik
hung aloft, followed by ten black moons. Ask your astronomers. But we
Tziganes knew this before there ever were astronomers!

Therefore, go home to your own land, monsieur. The Prince of Hell is
in the heavens. The Yellow Devil shall see the Golden Horn again.
Empires shall totter and fall. Little American, stand from under.

Adieu! We Tziganes wish you well--Fifi and Nini of the Jardin Russe.

"Adieu, _beau jeune homme_! And--_to her whom you shall take with
you_--homage, good wishes, good augury, and adieux!"

* * * * *

"'To her whom you shall take with you,'" he repeated, looking at Rue
Carew.

The girl blushed furiously and bent her head, and her slender fingers
grew desperately busy with her handkerchief.

Neeland, as nervous as she, fumbled with the seal of the remaining
letter, managed finally to break it, glanced at the writing, then
laughed and read:

* * * * *

My dear Comrade Neeland:

I get my thousand lances! Congratulate me! Were you much battered by
that _canaille_ last night? I laugh until I nearly burst when I think
of that absurd _bousculade_!

That girl I took with me is all right. I'm going to Petrograd! I'm
going on the first opportunity by way of Switzerland.

What happiness, Neeland! No more towns for me, except those I take. No
more politics, no more diplomacy! I shall have a thousand lances to do
my talking for me. Hurrah!

Neeland, I love you as a brother. Come to the East with me. You shall
make a splendid trooper! Not, of course, a Terek Cossack. A Cossack is
God's work. A Terek Cossack is born, not made.

But, good heavens! There is other most excellent cavalry in the world,
I hope! Come with me to Russia. Say that you will come, my dear
comrade Neeland, and I promise you we shall amuse ourselves when the
world's dance