CHAPTER IX
THE CAFÉ AND THE CANTEEN
AS the door closed behind the departing John Bull, the heavy purdah between the sitting-room and the tiny side-chamber or alcove in which was Carmelita's bed, was pushed aside, and Olga Kyrilovitch, barefooted and dressed in night attire belonging to Carmelita, entered the room. On the sofa lay Carmelita sobbing, her hands pressed over her eyes.
Looking more boy-like than ever, with her short hair, the Russian girl advanced noiselessly and shook Carmelita sharply by the shoulder.
"You fool," she hissed between clenched teeth. "You stupid fool. You blind, stubborn, hopeless fool!" Carmelita sat up. This was language she could understand, and a situation with which she could deal.
"Yes?" she replied without resentment, "and why?"
"Those two men. … Compare them. … I heard every word—I could not help it. I could not come out—I should not have been safe, even with you here, with that vile, filthy Italian in the room, nor could I come, for shame, like this, while the Englishman was here. … Why did you let him say he does not love me?" and the girl burst into tears. Carmelita stared.
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