"Oho! you love him, do you?" quoth she.… "Then if you know what love is, why do you abuse the man I love?"
The girl raised her impassioned tear-stained face to Carmelita's.
"Will nothing persuade you, little fool?" she cried, "that that Italian beast no more loves you than—than Jean Boule loves me—that he is playing with you, that he is battening on you, and that, the moment the fat Canteen woman accepts him, he will marry her and you will see him no more? Why should Jean Boule lie to you? Why should the American? Why should I?—Ask any Legionary in Sidi."
Carmelita clenched her little fist and appeared to be about to strike the Russian girl.
"Stop!" continued Olga, and pointed to the uniform which lay folded on the chair. "See! Prove your courage and prove us all liars if you can. Put on that uniform, disguise yourself, and go to the Canteen any night in the week. If your Rivoli is not there behind the bar, hand-in-glove with Madame, turn me into the street—or leave me at the mercy of your Rivoli. There now.…"
"I will," said Carmelita, and then screamed and laughed, laughed and screamed, as her overwrought nerves and brain gave way in a fit of hysterics.
When she recovered, Olga Kyrilovitch discovered that the seed which she had sown had taken root, and that it was Carmelita's unalterable intention to pay a visit to the Canteen on the very next evening.
"For my Luigi's own sake I will spy upon him," she said, "and to prove all his vile accusers wrong. When I have done it I will confess to him with tears
