Salon. He carried something in his hand and went up to stand at the side of the Marquis waiting for him to finish speaking.
“What is it?” the Marquis asked.
“This has just been left at the front door, M’Lord. A man gave it to me saying I was to present it to Your Lordship in your bed-room, but seeing that you had not retired, I thought I should bring it here.”
“A man?” the Marquis questioned.
“I think he must have been a Gypsy, M’Lord. He said, ‘Tell His Lordship this is a gift from the Gypsies’.”
The Marquis glanced at Saviya.
“It sounds as if your father is being unexpectedly generous.”
The footman put the parcel into his hands and Saviya saw it was a round wicker basket, not very large, the lid fastened down at each side with a small wooden peg slipped into a cane loop.
“Do you know anything about this?” the Marquis enquired.
She shook her head.
“I cannot imagine what it is. I do not think it can be from my father. It is not the sort of thing he would do without telling me.”
“A gift from the Gypsies...” the Marquis repeated. “Well, I shall expect something unusual, Saviya.”
He pulled out the two small wooden pegs as he spoke.
Then, just as he was about to raise the lid, Saviya suddenly seized it from his hands, and with a swiftness that took him by surprise, ran down the room, put the basket on the floor and pushed it away from her.
It slid across the polished parquet floor, where there were no rugs, to come to rest almost in front of the door.
“Whatever are you doing?” the Marquis asked in astonishment. As he spoke, the lid of the basket slipped to one side, and through the aperture came first a long, forked tongue, then the head and finally the body of a snake!
It moved so quickly there was hardly time for anyone to ejaculate before on reaching the floor it raised itself and its hood expanded to reveal that it was a cobra.
“Good God!”
The Marquis could hardly say the words, while Charles Collington exclaimed:
“A pistol! Where do you keep a pistol, Fabius?”
The cobra darted its head first right and then left. It was hissing, its long tongue licking in and out of its mouth, obviously angry and annoyed at being moved about.
Charles Collington started to walk cautiously along the side of the room in an attempt to reach the door behind the snake. With a little gesture of her hand, Saviya stopped him.
“Keep still!” she said in a very low voice. “Do not move or speak.”
There was an authority in her tone that was unmistakable, and while the Marquis would have expostulated, he bit back the words even as he started to say them.
Moving a little nearer to the hissing, angry reptile, Saviya started to make a strange sound.
It was not exactly singing, it was like the notes of the reed-pipe used by the snake-charmers in India. Yet it came from between her lips and was at first so faint that the three men listening could hardly hear it.
But the cobra heard and now its tongue no longer flicked out, and it turned its head curiously, first this way, then that, regarding Saviya with its yellow eyes.
He was still poised for the attack, his head with its inflated hood high in the air.
Slowly, making that strange music which seemed to consist of just three notes repeated over and over again, Saviya drew a little nearer.
Firstly, she sank down on her knees just a short distance from the cobra, her eyes on his, her body very still.
There was complete silence in the room except for her voice, and the three men watching hardly seemed to breathe. They stood as if turned to stone.
Then slowly, almost imperceptibly, in time to the notes, Saviya began to move her shoulders a little to the left and then to the right, swaying rhythmically, her eyes all the time on the cobra.
Now he too began to move, swaying as she did, turning his yellowish head with the black and white spectacle-shaped markings on its wide hood to the right, to the left, to the right, to the
“What is it?” the Marquis asked.
“This has just been left at the front door, M’Lord. A man gave it to me saying I was to present it to Your Lordship in your bed-room, but seeing that you had not retired, I thought I should bring it here.”
“A man?” the Marquis questioned.
“I think he must have been a Gypsy, M’Lord. He said, ‘Tell His Lordship this is a gift from the Gypsies’.”
The Marquis glanced at Saviya.
“It sounds as if your father is being unexpectedly generous.”
The footman put the parcel into his hands and Saviya saw it was a round wicker basket, not very large, the lid fastened down at each side with a small wooden peg slipped into a cane loop.
“Do you know anything about this?” the Marquis enquired.
She shook her head.
“I cannot imagine what it is. I do not think it can be from my father. It is not the sort of thing he would do without telling me.”
“A gift from the Gypsies...” the Marquis repeated. “Well, I shall expect something unusual, Saviya.”
He pulled out the two small wooden pegs as he spoke.
Then, just as he was about to raise the lid, Saviya suddenly seized it from his hands, and with a swiftness that took him by surprise, ran down the room, put the basket on the floor and pushed it away from her.
It slid across the polished parquet floor, where there were no rugs, to come to rest almost in front of the door.
“Whatever are you doing?” the Marquis asked in astonishment. As he spoke, the lid of the basket slipped to one side, and through the aperture came first a long, forked tongue, then the head and finally the body of a snake!
It moved so quickly there was hardly time for anyone to ejaculate before on reaching the floor it raised itself and its hood expanded to reveal that it was a cobra.
“Good God!”
The Marquis could hardly say the words, while Charles Collington exclaimed:
“A pistol! Where do you keep a pistol, Fabius?”
The cobra darted its head first right and then left. It was hissing, its long tongue licking in and out of its mouth, obviously angry and annoyed at being moved about.
Charles Collington started to walk cautiously along the side of the room in an attempt to reach the door behind the snake. With a little gesture of her hand, Saviya stopped him.
“Keep still!” she said in a very low voice. “Do not move or speak.”
There was an authority in her tone that was unmistakable, and while the Marquis would have expostulated, he bit back the words even as he started to say them.
Moving a little nearer to the hissing, angry reptile, Saviya started to make a strange sound.
It was not exactly singing, it was like the notes of the reed-pipe used by the snake-charmers in India. Yet it came from between her lips and was at first so faint that the three men listening could hardly hear it.
But the cobra heard and now its tongue no longer flicked out, and it turned its head curiously, first this way, then that, regarding Saviya with its yellow eyes.
He was still poised for the attack, his head with its inflated hood high in the air.
Slowly, making that strange music which seemed to consist of just three notes repeated over and over again, Saviya drew a little nearer.
Firstly, she sank down on her knees just a short distance from the cobra, her eyes on his, her body very still.
There was complete silence in the room except for her voice, and the three men watching hardly seemed to breathe. They stood as if turned to stone.
Then slowly, almost imperceptibly, in time to the notes, Saviya began to move her shoulders a little to the left and then to the right, swaying rhythmically, her eyes all the time on the cobra.
Now he too began to move, swaying as she did, turning his yellowish head with the black and white spectacle-shaped markings on its wide hood to the right, to the left, to the right, to the
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