Don Marcos had never seen the Prince so vexed as he was that morning,
when he announced that the Duchess de Delille was waiting for him
down-stairs in the hall.
"You should have told her I'd gone out; any sort of a pretext--a lunch
at Nice.... There must be some understanding between you. You certainly
look out for your Infanta!"
The Colonel, flushed with emotion, made an effort to reply to these
accusations. If the Duchess had now suddenly presented herself, it was
perhaps because he had refused to take any of her messages for the
Prince.
As the latter went down to the hall, he ran straight into Alicia, who
was standing close to a window, and looking at the gardens and the sea.
Her back was towards him, just as he had seen her coming out of the
concert. When she turned her head, Michael thought to himself that he
would surely never have recognized her had he met her anywhere else. She
was a beautiful woman, but scarcely like the person he had seen that
last time in the "study" on the Avenue du Bois, with its weird oriental
nick-nacks and unwholesome perfumes. Several years of her life had
passed away since then, and yet she seemed fresher, and younger. Her
eyes had lost the veiled disturbing fire, that made them look larger,
and gave them a fixed, unnatural stare. The dull, sickly whiteness of
her skin had taken on color from the sun and the open air. Her airy,
undulating litheness had become less willowy, giving her person the calm
tranquillity of bodies that are beginning to crystallize in their
definitive form.
The Prince, interrupted by Alicia's smiling glance, was unable to
continue his scrutiny. It seemed from her quiet easy manner as though
she had been there in that very place only the day before. Moreover,
Michael suddenly began to wonder how he should start the conversation.
Should he talk English or French? Should he speak informally as
before?... She put an end to his hesitation, speaking familiarly in
Spanish, just as when they were children.
"How hard it is to get in touch with you! Practically impossible,"
Alicia said as she sat down, after shaking hands with him. "So I decided
to pay you this visit. It isn't exactly proper for a lady to call on a
person with such a terrible reputation as you have; but I'm not the
first one who has come here. There have been lots of others!"
She laughed teasingly as she said this. Immediately she became serious,
and said timidly:
"I came here on business--a money matter."
Not wanting to take up such a subject at once, she talked about the
obstacles which had obliged her to come unannounced to Villa Sirena. The
Prince could have absolute confidence in the fidelity with which his
"chamberlain" carried out his orders. This Colonel was a nice fellow,
but there was no approaching him, any more than a ferocious dog, when
some one tries to make him disobey his master. She had vainly asked him
to announce her visit; and he had even refused to accept her card for
his Prince.
"I might have written you; but I was afraid you wouldn't reply, or would
simply tell me to deal with your agent in Paris. It has been such a long
time since we've seen each other! Our friendship has been so
intermittent! So that is why I finally decided last night to come and
surprise you in your den, with the hope that you wouldn't show me the
door."
Michael smiled, making a gesture of indignant denial.
"I came about my debt ... the loans your mother made me some time ago. I
didn't know how much they amounted to. Your agent now says they are over
four hundred thousand francs. It must be so, if he maintains it. At
times when I was in straits I asked for something, and the Princess, who
was such a great lady, kept giving and giving, without either of us
paying any attention to the amounts. Now I see how tremendously generous
she must have been."
This was surprising news for Lubimoff. Then he gradually recalled that
when his mother died she had left a long memorandum of all the loans she
had made, and that Alicia's name figured among the debtors. But he had
left the papers in the hands of his administrator, without thinking any
more about the matter.
He immediately understood the reason for Alicia's visit. His agent had
wanted to raise some money, and owing to the lack of funds from Russia,
he was raising all he could in the West: credits ... advances made to
friends or dependents, guaranty deposits, and even the loans made by the
Princess, which, according to his express orders, were not to be
demanded except in case of strict necessity.
The general pressure of circumstances had reached Alicia. For the last
four months the Lubimoff estate had been sending her letter after
letter, demanding the payment of her enormous debt. Already the agent's
last note had become threatening because of her silence. It notified her
that action would be brought against her in court. The estate was
holding many of her letters thanking the Princess for the latter's
generosity. Besides, all the money had been paid by checks cashed by
the Duchess herself.
"Your administrator is certainly an insolent fellow. The other day I saw
you in the Casino,--I saw you from behind as you were running away from
people. You frightened me: I imagined then that you had changed, that
you were very different from the man I knew, and that we would never
come to an understanding. Later I thought you mustn't be quite so
terrible as you seem ... and I came."
Michael, remaining silent, seemed to be saying something with his eyes,
which were fixed on Alicia. Well, why had she come? What was it she
wished to propose to him?
She smiled with an expression of cynical amusement.
"I came to tell you that I can't pay now--and perhaps never; to beg you
to wait, I don't know how long, and to ask you to see that that
disagreeable fellow who is managing your estate doesn't annoy me with
his insolence."
And as the Prince made no move, she continued,
"I'm ruined."
"So am I," said Michael. "We're all ruined. The munition makers are the
only people with any money now."
"Oh! You ruined!" Alicia protested. "With you it is simply a question of
being hard pressed for the moment. Things in Russia will be straightened
out some time or other. Besides, you are Prince Lubimoff, the famous
millionaire. If I had your name, who would refuse me a loan?"
Suddenly she lost the audacious smile which she had worked up for the
interview. Her eyes grew darker; the corners of her mouth drooped.
"I am really ruined. Look."
She pointed to the triangle of bare flesh visible at the throat of her
low cut dress. A pearl necklace rested on her white bosom. Michael, as
she insisted, finally looked at the pearls. False, scandalously false;
all the luster gone, opaque and yellow as drops of wax. He knew
something about pearls; he had given away so many necklaces! Then Alicia
showed him her hands. Two artistically made finger rings, but without
any jewels, and of slight intrinsic value, were all that adorned her
fingers.
"This is a last year's dress," she added in a mournful voice, as though
confessing something most shameful. "They won't trust me any more in
Paris. I owe so much! Nothing but the hat is new. What woman, no matter
how poor she might feel, wouldn't buy a hat! It is the most conspicuous
thing about one,--something that changes all the time; and must be
looked after at all costs. Luckily, on account of the war, they are not
using plumes.... I'm poor, Michael, poorer than any woman you ever
knew."
"And your mother?"
The Prince asked this instinctively, without thinking. A moment later he
suspected that he had read, some years before, he didn't know where,
perhaps while he was roving the seas, the news of the death of Dona
Mercedes. He was not sure; but her daughter removed all doubt.
"Poor senora! Let's not talk about her."
But nevertheless Alicia did talk, but only to lament her mother's devout
prodigality. She had given millions for the construction of an enormous
hospital in Spain, on the advice of her Aragonese chaplain, the
astronomer of the Champs-Elysees. Marble was used in the construction
for the mere masonry; the garden fence was forged by a celebrated
Parisian artist who devoted himself to molding bronze statues for
drawing-rooms. But when the vicar left, tired of such generosity, the
monster building remained unfinished, and the precious fence lay on the
ground in pieces, like so much old iron. Later, the "Monsignor" directed
the worthy lady's funds into other channels. It was necessary to spread
the faith by means of the "good book," and a new publishing house arose
in Paris, which was most extraordinary and unheard of. Packages of books
were stored on mahogany shelves, and the leaves were folded on lacquer
tables.
"The priests got everything that belonged to me," Alicia continued. "At
times they egged mamma on to the most absurd outlays of money just for
the sake of collecting commissions from the contractors. From numerous
belfries in both hemispheres chimes rang thanks to Dona Mercedes. One
entire bell foundry was kept going just on mamma's gifts. Besides, she
was often carried away by a sort of loving weakness for all the saints
who were not especially famous.
"In her last years she devoted herself to 'launching' saints. Every one
in the calendar who was little known, or of some unusual name, aroused
in her the desire to repair a great injustice. She had their lives
written, churches dedicated to them; and corresponded with the high
dignitaries of Rome to push many a dead man, who had waited centuries in
vain for the hour when he should become a Saint."
Lubimoff finally began to laugh at the resentful tone in which Alicia
spoke of her mother's mystic pleasures. Dona Mercedes was a great one!
And finally she began to laugh likewise.
"In that way all our income, which was enormous, was spent. She should
have left me a real fortune, unencumbered, in the bank. A lady that
spent so little on herself! And nevertheless, I had to pay out huge sums
for all the orders she had contracted before her death. You can be sure
the Monsignor and the rest of them are much richer than I."
"How about your mines? And your lands in Mexico?"
The Duchess repeated the same gesture of despair. It was as though they
did not exist! She was poor, absolutely poor.
"You say you are ruined, and you haven't suffered from the money
shortage for more than the last two years, perhaps less. I haven't seen
a cent of my fortune for some time before the war. Every one is talking
about Russia, and Bolshevism, because it is something that concerns the
Old World directly. But how about Mexico, and the situation there which
goes back to the time when Europe was at peace?"
Her lands had been lost as though they were so much personal property,
that could be transported and hidden. An agrarian revolution, the echoes
of which had scarcely reached the Old Continent, had swallowed them up,
suppressing all traces of her former property rights. The half-breeds
had divided them to suit themselves, to work them, or leave them more
unproductive than before. To whom could she appeal, if these lands were
in provinces that were constantly changing hands, and the Mexican
government had no authority over them?
The silver mines, which for three generations of Barrios had been the
basis of their fortune, were in a still worse situation.
"One of the so-called 'Generals,' an Indian, has fortified himself in
the territory where my mines are, and from there he defies the rulers in
the Capital. They tell me that every month he takes out half a million
francs in silver bars. He cuts them up in disks, puts his stamp on them
and makes money thus to pay his men. You can imagine he has plenty of
followers, with pure silver money, worth more than that of civilized
countries! They will never be able to put him out; all he has to do to
create armies for himself is to dig down into what belongs to me. This
bad joke has gone on now for several years; I, who live in Europe,
getting poorer and poorer every day, am paying for an endless war on the
other side of the earth."
In spite of the fact that the Prince had never taken care of his own
business he wanted to give her some advice. She ought to go over there
and ask for assistance; she was born in the United States.
"I've already seen to that," she replied. "I have some one in New York
who looks after my affairs. But would they go to war just on my account?
Perhaps I shall take the trip later. Not now: I haven't the strength.
There is something that is bothering me terribly just now, and it would
be even worse if I were to leave France."
Her eyes began to fill with tears. Her face contracted with an
expression of pain, and her hand moved toward her purse for a
handkerchief. Michael recalled the young man that Castro had been
noticing at Alicia's side during the last few years. Perhaps he was the
cause of her emotion, and inability to make the trip.
"Love!" he thought to himself. "Love, even now when she's growing old."
He tried to change the conversation and asked about the Duke de Delille.
He knew that he was at the front; and even thought he remembered a
report of his being wounded in one of the early battles. Was he still
alive?
In speaking of her husband, Alicia looked grave, to Michael's great
surprise. Formerly she used to treat him with a certain scorn. He had
accepted his wife's freedom, with all its consequences, in exchange for
an enormous allowance. They lived apart, and although she found her
independence very sweet, she could not help but feel a sort of feminine
dislike for her accommodating husband, so little given to tragic
jealousy. But at present her ideas seemed to have changed, and she
spoke rapidly as though afraid of noticing Lubimoff smile as she used to
smile herself, in mentioning the Duke.
"Yes; he joined the service. You know of course that he is some twenty
years older than I. He was exempted from bearing arms on account of his
age; but he remembered that he had been an officer in his youth, and was
one of the first to go. Who would have thought it of a man who didn't
seem to have any cares, and made fun of everything that didn't affect
his own selfish pleasures!"
The Germans had picked him up in a dying condition during one of their
victorious advances at the beginning of the war. He was covered with
wounds. After two years as a prisoner they had exchanged him as useless,
and he was living interned in Switzerland, with one arm gone.
"Poor man! He writes me every month. He fishes in Lake Geneva, and
thinks of me more than he ever thought before. His epistles are almost
love letters. What a transformation misfortune can make in a character.
He says that he sees life from a different angle; and hopes that after
the cataclysm, which will have made us better, we shall be able to come
together again, and be happy. Oh, if only I could want to!..."
Her tone was ironical as she spoke of this illusionary happiness, but at
the same time there was in it a note of respect and admiration. The Duke
whom she had known as a great dowry hunter, accommodating and
unscrupulous, was forgotten. At present she saw in him only the
white-haired warrior, the invalid, who according to the doctors, would
not live long, owing to the operations he had undergone. And she was
trying to keep up the exile's hopes, replying to his long letters, with
brief, affectionate notes.
"So it's on account of your husband that you don't take the trip?"
Michael asked, pretending that he was inquiring in good faith.
Alicia was ruffled by such a supposition. Poor Delille! It was something
else that was troubling her. Her husband wasn't the only one who had
gone to war. There were others, who were younger, and had better reasons
to love life, but who had suffered the same fate. How many hidden griefs
there were these days!
The Duchess's eyes moistened, and her eyes and lips frankly expressed
her sorrow.
"It's the little lover; there's no doubt of it," Michael said to
himself. "It's the young chap Castro saw."
As though she read his thoughts and were anxious to switch them, Alicia
began to talk once more about the reason for her visit, and about her
situation.
The Prince nodded when she described to him her amazement at finding
that wealth was not something infinite and immutable, and that it was
slipping from her grasp ... slipping and slipping, without her being
able to do anything to avoid the gradual ruin.
"I sold inopportunely; I took the money they cared to give me, without
paying any attention to the conditions. All my jewels went; I sold some
in Paris, others here in this very place. You say you are ruined. No,
you don't know what it means; but I know all right! I've been
shipwrecked longer than you; my boat was smaller. I don't want to bore
you with an account of my poverty. I haven't a house in Paris any more.
I shall never go back there again, unless my affairs are straightened
out. The only house I have is a villa here, which I bought in the good
old days. Don't smile; there are two mortgages on it. Almost any day
they may put me out of it. It was a very pleasant sort of house before,
when I had money; but now, with everything so scarce on account of the
war! There's no coal, and wood is dear; it gets cold at night, and it
takes a fortune to keep the old furnace going. Besides, I haven't any
servants except my former lady's maid, the gardener, and his wife who
does the cooking. For that reason all the rooms are closed, and Valeria
and I live our lives in two rooms on the first floor. We eat there, and
sleep there. Valeria is a girl from Paris, a senorita whom I am
'protecting.' Imagine how poor she must be if she trusts her future to
me!"
"But you gamble," said the Prince.
Alicia seemed shocked at these words. They sounded like an accusation.
"I play, but what can you expect me to do? I have to do something to
keep body and soul together, to earn my living. How else could a woman
like myself do it? I know what you're going to say to me: that I've lost
a great deal. True; I sold my pearl necklace here, the real one, and a
great many other jewels; I have lost large amounts, more than I care to
think of. But at that time I didn't know all I know to-day.... When as
luck will have it, I haven't much money to play!"
Lubimoff was astonished at the way this woman spoke in all seriousness
of her present adeptness.
"Besides," she added in a tone of sadness, "what would become of me if I
didn't play? Surely you haven't forgotten how I was when we saw each
other last. You must have noticed certain tastes of mine."
Michael recalled the invitation to smoke "the pipe," and the odor that
filled the "study" in the palace on the Avenue du Bois.
"I put a stop to all that: gambling and something else made me give it
up. Now I think of it with disgust. That's why I live in Monte Carlo. I
have a feeling deep down in my heart that fortune will come back in
search of me here, and nowhere else. Don't you play?"
Michael was annoyed at this question. Hadn't he told her that he was
ruined? Was he going to follow her example, and make his situation still
worse by losing the remnants of his fortune?
"Ruined!" exclaimed Alicia. "Your hard times can't last long. This
Russian business will finally be settled. The great powers have too
large interests at stake there, not to take a hand in straightening
everything out. It's this affair of mine that won't be arranged for
years. The only hope I have is to enjoy a run of luck in the Casino and
win some two or three hundred thousand francs, and, with that amount,
wait for things to change."
The Prince shrugged his shoulders. He knew gamblers. This woman,
dominated by her wild dream, would forget the object of her visit, and
go raving on about the possible whims of fortune, like Spadoni, or like
Castro himself.
"And what do you want of me?"
Alicia seemed to wake up, and once more her smile became bold, and
engaging, as it had been at the beginning of the interview; the smile of
a petitioner who comes with the firm determination to get what he wants.
She had already told him at the very beginning what her object was; that
the Prince's agent shouldn't bother her any more in regard to that
forgotten debt.
"I shall pay it some day, if it is possible for me.... But you had
better count on my never paying it at all. Give it up as lost, and tell
that horrid gentleman not to write me any more."
Michael, fascinated by the simple way in which this woman announced her
extraordinary desire, imitated the tone of her voice.
"Very well; I shall tell this horrid gentleman not to bother you; to
forget you."
And he laughed like a child, without paying any attention to the fact
that his own interests were at stake. The only thing he thought of was
the expression on the face of his solemn agent when he received such an
order.
"I always thought you were kind and generous," she said. "Thanks,
Michael! At times I have had a discussion with the 'General' about you,
to convince her that you are a big hearted man."
"Oh, so Dona Clorinda is an enemy of mine? Why I've never seen her!"
"She's an extraordinary woman. In her eyes, every man who has a good
time, and doesn't do wonderful things, is displeasing to her. Only
yesterday we quarreled for good. Let's not talk about her. I have
something more to ask of you."
More? The Prince looked at her in astonishment, but Alicia hastened to
add that what she wanted was some advice.
War had upset their modes of life with amazing rapidity. Social values
were reversed: the fortunes that seemed most solid were crumbling.
"Things will change, surely? It's impossible for this to last."
"Yes it is impossible," he said gravely.
Both of them seemed to be living in another world, surrounded by the
senseless visions of a nightmare. To think that they would have to worry
of money, after it had been, up to that time, a natural part of their
existence, much as sunlight, air, or water is for every one! To think
that they should find themselves obliged to pursue it in its flight
through unknown ways! No, it wasn't logical; surely a passing whim of
destiny. Their lives would again be the same as before, with the
regularity of the laws of nature, which seem to swerve at times, but
finally return to their orderly predestined course.
Being harder pressed, and having suffered economic hardships for a
longer time, it was impossible for her to adopt the serenity with which
Lubimoff accepted his momentary ruin.
"Things will change, that's certain; but in the meantime, how can I
live? You have just freed me from a moral burden by forgetting about
this debt. I thank you. But I must work, I want to earn some money! What
is your advice?"
He was astounded. What work could Alicia do? Her question was laughable.
But there she was, gravely facing him, convinced of her determination to
work, and expecting illuminating counsel, as though her fate depended on
him.
Fortunately Alicia herself, unable to bear the silence, began to explain
her own ideas on the subject. The topsy-turvy state of things at the
present time justified the wildest plans. A great lady might adopt means
of support which some years previously would have caused a scandal. She
knew a number of Russian ladies in Nice who used to give wonderful
parties in their drawing rooms before the war, and who at present,
having been reduced to poverty, were devising schemes to earn their
living in their own way. One was going to open a millinery shop, and
count on her former friendships to form a circle of customers. Another
had changed her villa on the Promenade des Anglais into a boarding
house. She would admit only people of distinction. Allied officers, from
Colonels up. She intended to treat her boarders like visitors, with all
the courtesy of a great lady receiving her guests; save that from now on
every day in the week would be her reception day.
"What do you think of my turning my villa into a boarding house? Could
you help me with a little money to renew the furniture, and buy whatever
is lacking? Nothing but aristocratic guests; generals, and retired
ambassadors who come here in quest of sunlight."
The Prince replied with a burst of laughter.
"Why, you're crazy. They would all make love to you. In a few weeks your
establishment would be a regular inferno."
Alicia, considering his observation quite accurate, did not insist any
further. The Russian lady in Nice was old and terrible looking compared
with her. Besides, she thought it perfectly natural and logical that her
guests should become enamored of her.
The "General" had suggested another plan to her. She might open a
tea-room in Monte Carlo, a very elegant one. The attraction of seeing
her at the counter would draw people. For this she would not need a
financial backer.
Once more Lubimoff burst out laughing.
"The Duchess de Delille's tea-room! That would be delightful; but once
people's curiosity had been satisfied the only customers you would have
would be those who were interested in your charms. No; that's not
business."
She gave a look of somewhat comic dismay; what was she to do? A lady who
is anxious for work can find no occupation in a world controlled and
monopolized by men. She had nothing to fall back on except gambling. It
was an exciting pleasure which made her forget her worries, and at the
same time gave her hope. Each day with gambling she opened a window to
fortune, in case it should deign to remember her. Who knows but what
some time it might fold its golden wings and alight on a Casino table,
and allow Alicia's slender hands to caress it, like a tame eagle!
"In the first few months of the war," she continued, "I didn't feel the
need of anything to distract my mind; the reality of what was happening
was enough. What anguish I went through! But one gets used to
everything; the deepest emotions get monotonous if they are too long
drawn out. One can't live forever with one's nerves at a high tension.
And this war is so long, and so tiresome! I might have had recourse to
philanthropic work to take my mind off my troubles; go into a hospital,
and take care of the wounded. But I've never been clever at such things,
and I don't want to make a nuisance of myself and be a hindrance, out of
pure vanity, like a great many other women. Besides, we are in the habit
of giving orders, and always coming first, and no matter how deeply we
may feel the spirit of sacrifice, we finally leave, unable to endure
finding ourselves ordered about by more skillful and useful women, who
have previously been our inferiors. Take Clorinda for instance; she was
a nurse the first two years; she was one of the prettiest and most
interesting with her white dress and her little blue cape. She is
attracted by everything great; heroism, sacrifices, etc., but she
finally quarreled with her superiors and gave up her fine role."
In gesture and facial expression Alicia seemed to be pitying her own
uselessness.
"What could I do? I was reduced to worse and worse straits. In Paris my
creditors were right at my heels, constantly bothering me; that's why I
came to Monte Carlo, and gambled to forget, and to make a living. There
is love, an old Academician, a friend of mine, said to me, with a
selfish motive to be the first to make advantage of his advice. Just
imagine: real passionate love, wholehearted love, as the only solution
for the sorrows of life, and at such a time! Oh, if only I could! But I
feel I'm old, two thousand years old. You are younger, but you can
count your life in centuries too. Love, for such as you and me!"
At first Lubimoff smiled at the tone of irony and disenchantment in
which she spoke. Yes, they were very old. The great remedies, useful for
the majority of people, had no effect on them. They, as it were, had
become insensible from satiety and weariness. Suddenly the Prince was
moved by an indiscreet desire. He decided to take advantage of the
opportunity to ask her a question that had often occurred to him.
"Indeed," he said with masculine frankness, as though talking with a
comrade, "you still believe in love? They told me about a boy, almost a
child, whom you used to take everywhere before the war. Really, we are
beginning to get old," he added with a smile, "and feel we need the
contact of youth. Was he your lover? Is he the reason for your worries?"
At these questions, the Duchess paled, and seemed to hesitate. Then she
made an effort to speak. It was evident that she was eager to be
sincere. But her pallor was followed by a wave of crimson. Twice she
tried to say something, and finally, mastering her desire to talk, she
forced a mischievous smile.
"Let's not talk about that. We each have a right to our secrets," she
said.
And to keep the Prince from relapsing into his curiosity, she went on
talking about gambling. But he was absorbed in his thoughts, and was not
listening to her. He had hit the nail on the head; that young stripling
was her lover, and she was suffering on his account. Perhaps he was
wounded, or a prisoner. That was the great obstacle which stood in the
way of her trip; which was keeping her pinned down in Europe, in the
superstitious belief that we can ward off dangers better if we remain
close at hand. And she seemed very much in love! Here the Prince gave
vent to a series of mental exclamations.
"Forty years old, with a past that would fill a book! To feel such a
powerful, such a youthful passion! Still to believe in love!"
Michael looked at her with an expression that was almost one of hatred.
Her passion for the boy annoyed him, without his being able to tell just
why; perhaps because of the indignation which is always aroused by
people who cling to some harmful lie, accepting it as truth and
consolation. Whatever the cause, her conduct annoyed him.
This sudden feeling of hostility towards Alicia finally caused him to
pay attention once more to what she was saying.
"If only I had as much money as I had before, when your mother was still
alive, and we used to live in Monte Carlo! But at that time I didn't
know as much as I know to-day about gambling. I used to play just for
excitement, just to enjoy the sensation of losing, which, as a matter of
fact, didn't affect me very deeply. I used only chips for a thousand
francs in betting. I thought it was beneath me so much as to touch any
others; and besides, I never risked them one at a time. I always staked
them in a row."
"How much have you lost?"
She shrugged her shoulders, and pursed her lips disdainfully.
"Who could possibly know? I've been coming here for twelve years or
more. Even the people in the Casino wouldn't be able to calculate what
I've given them. In those days, I never used to keep any track of it
myself. When I needed money I telegraphed to Paris. Besides, I had your
mother; and I had my own, who usually gave in to my requests, in the
end. I wouldn't like to know how much I've lost: it would make me
furious. It must be millions."
The smile of commiseration with which Michael listened to her, seemed to
make her bolder.
"But at that time I didn't know how to play! Now I must win, and I play
in a different way. What I need is capital. If I only had a working
capital!"
This last expression changed his smile into frank laughter. "A working
capital!" The Duchess would go on talking seriously about her "work."
She lamented the slenderness of her means. Some thirty thousand francs
was all the capital she had at her disposal. At times it dwindled in
alarming fashion: the thirty thousand often shrunk to a single digit.
Then the ciphers would reappear, and the product of her "work" expand,
gradually rising above the thirty thousand; but this amount seemed to be
the fatal number for Alicia, for soon after reaching it her winnings
would always fall to their usual level.
"Last night I was lucky; I succeeded in winning fourteen thousand
francs. But last week was bad. Sum total, I'm still at thirty thousand:
impossible to get any farther. And I don't run any chances, I'm afraid,
and don't take advantage of the good runs of luck I do have. I ought to
go on doubling, and doubling. I'm afraid of losing it all on a single
stake. If I only had a working capital! If I were to go into the Casino
some afternoon with a hundred and fifty or two hundred thousand francs!
That's the way to master luck. I ought to play big stakes. Imagine me,
betting a hundred, and even as low as twenty franc chips, like a retired
money lender! That's the reason fortune doesn't notice me, and passes by
on the other side."
The Prince shook his head. He refused to help her with her follies.
Wasn't it better to keep those thousands of francs, instead of losing
them in no time, as would happen when she was least expecting it?
"You're not a gambler, I know," she said. "You have never felt attracted
to that sort of pleasure. That's why you don't realize the mysterious
power of the game, and give advice about something you don't understand.
If I were to give up playing, I would feel my poverty at once; then I
would be really poor. While you play, you always have money in your
hands; you win, and lose, but you never lack the necessities of life.
And if you lose everything you can still get what you need to start in
again. I don't know how it is, but a gambler always has plenty of money.
A single coin puts him on his feet again in five minutes. It's the poor
man who doesn't play who goes around with empty pockets, without hope or
means of improving his situation."
Michael continued his mimicry of protest. That was all an old story to
him; it was the way Spadoni, and even Castro, talked, but with a certain
added fanaticism, characteristic of women, who, mystics in money
matters, are always inclined to believe in presentiments and mysterious
influences.
"Don't count on my helping you to gamble. Besides, I'm poor. At the
present moment the Colonel must have less cash in the strong box than
you. I'm almost tempted to ask you to loan me your thirty thousand
francs."
They both laughed at the idea of this loan. And she had come as a debtor
to ask his aid!
"I don't know what I can do for you; it's impossible for me to tell just
what my situation is; but I'll do what I can. Let's have hope: one must
be patient. These times can't last."
"No; they can't last."
Again the thought of the ridiculousness of their being poor so
unexpectedly, came over them. But was it logical to think that the world
would go on in the same normal fashion after such radical divergences
from the natural order?
They felt drawn together in the solidarity of misfortune; they suddenly
met, like brother and sister, fallen at the foot of a mountain peak, on
the heights of which they had previously avoided each other, rudely
clashing in uncontrollable hostility.
At present Michael had a feeling of being attracted to her, for a reason
that was absolutely novel. Since his youth he had hated the daughter of
Dona Mercedes, for her pride, and for the air of overwhelming
superiority which she maintained even in those moments of love when
nearly every woman freely humbles herself to take shelter in a man's
arms like a happy slave. She could give herself only with a manner of
haughty condescension, as a haughty alms, much as a goddess might come
to a poor mortal.
And now, seeing her come to him thus simply, to entreat his aid, without
the rancor of humiliated pride, hiding her fear with friendly merriment,
desirous of forgetting the past, he felt all his old antipathy melt
away.
He had always been a protector, a lover in the oriental fashion,
incapable of caring for any women except those of his harem, who owed
everything to his munificence, from their slippers to the plumes in
their turbans, from the jewels that adorned their breasts, to the
sweetmeats they ate, the pipes they smoked, and the musical instruments
which accompanied their songs. Alicia did not interest him as a woman;
neither she nor any other! But he felt the sympathy of comradeship in
seeing her in need of his protection; somewhat the same feeling that he
had towards Castro, the Colonel, and the other occupants of Villa
Sirena. He even thought to himself that misfortune was acceptable, so
long as it tended to make people show their real character once more.
This Alicia, so odious to him in early youth, might finally turn out to
be quite a good friend, now that she found herself freed from the
influence of vanity and of her bad bringing up.
"You have done enough just in receiving me here," she continued. "I know
the limitation of my rights: I'm in hostile territory. This is the house
of 'The Enemies of Women.'"
The Prince pretended not to hear her. Somebody had been talking; perhaps
it was Castro, who could never keep anything from Dona Clorinda.
They walked through the gardens. Alicia stopped suddenly in front of a
little piece of cultivated ground, where a few vegetables were beginning
to spring from the soil.
"This is where you work? I know you amuse yourself working in your
garden, just as other Russian princes do by making shoes."
So she knew this too? Oh, that tattle-tale rogue of a Castro!
In the Greek garden, one of the marble benches supported by four winged
Victories attracted her attention, causing her to stop for a moment with
a pensive expression on her face.
"Do you remember the old man on the bench near the Trojan wall?" she
suddenly said.
Michael did not know how to answer her question; but after a few moments
he remembered, as though her fixed stare communicated to him the vision
of that night in which he had brutally left her.
"How you laughed at me! What a fool I must have seemed! Yes: I was
unbearable. I was Venus; I was the center of the world; everything in
existence, people and things, had been created for my special benefit. I
felt it was my mission to make the world endure my whims, and that the
world ought to thank me on its knees for paying any attention to it.
What can you expect! It was youth, and the childish pride of our
Springtime, which imagines itself eternal. And afterwards! If I were to
tell you all the disillusionments, and all the sorrows that I
experienced, even back in the days when I didn't have to worry about
money! Winter sweeps away all our fancies of Maytime!"
"But you're not an old woman yet!" Michael exclaimed. "You still inspire
romantic love in young men. You're fooling yourself or trying to make
fun of me. There are still lots of men who, when they see you,
would...."
"Perhaps," she replied, "but you, my dear, are not one of them. Confess
it; I've never pleased you."
The Prince decided not to confess anything, and changed the
conversation. These allusions to the past annoyed him. Alicia irritated
him, every time she attempted to revive her charms as a siren of men.
They wandered about for more than half an hour on the various garden
terraces. From time to time, in passing a clearing in the shrubbery,
Michael cast a stealthy glance in the direction of the villa. No one was
at the windows; but he himself felt an inner agitation at this visit. He
was sure they were spying on him. Atilio, from behind the window
curtains, was undoubtedly following their promenade among the trees.
Perhaps Spadoni, who had spent the night at Villa Sirena, was jumping
out of bed, and losing two hours of sleep, in order to contemplate this
surprising spectacle. Even Novoa might have stopped reading to look in
the direction of the garden.
Alicia herself noticed the fact that no one was visible, neither guest
nor servants. She and the Prince seemed to be walking through an
enchanted park.
As they went in the direction of the gate they met Don Marcos, who was
hurriedly coming out of the gardener's lodge.
The Duchess held out her hand to Michael, who kissed it ceremoniously.
"I hope we are to see each other again in the Casino."
He shook his head. The gaming rooms bored him: he had no idea of going
there.
"I would have liked to meet you there. I'm sure you would bring me
luck."
For a moment she seemed undecided. She had no thought of returning to
Villa Sirena, where there was no one but men: she was convinced that she
was a nuisance there.
"Come and see me to-morrow. The Colonel knows where I live. Come, and
we'll have a laugh at the way the Duchess de Delille is living. It's
rather interesting."
She went over to the livery carriage which was waiting for her outside
the gate. Before getting in she turned to urge him, in a tone of playful
threat:
"If you don't come, you'll never see me again. I shall think you want to
break with me, that you think I'm a bore, and don't like me. I shall
expect you."
As the carriage drove off, she waved farewell.
"It was about time!" Michael exclaimed, on finding himself alone.
It had been a visit of an hour and a half. It had kept him continuously
at a nervous tension, weighing his words, and avoiding too great an
expression of friendliness, giving advice without any interest
whatsoever, and leaving the past in silence. He preferred the confidence
and lack of restraint of the conversations with his comrades.
On thinking of the latter, his feeling of annoyance returned. How Castro
would smile, when he sat down at the table! He could hear his voice
already saying ironically: "No women!" And the first to appear had made
him as sheepishly obedient as a prior breaking the rule of the monastery
to receive a Queen.
This worry caused him to speak to the Colonel, who was walking along at
his side in silence, accompanying him from the gate to the house. Where
was Castro?
"In the library with Lord Lewis. His Lordship arrived while Your
Highness was in the garden. He has come to lunch."
He was a nice Englishman! He had taken it into his head of his own
accord to choose this day, after so many futile invitations! While that
Englishman was present, Castro would talk of nothing but gaming. And
Michael went in search of Lewis.
The latter was the son of the great historian, whose country had
rewarded him with the title of lord. But this title was only to be
inherited by the oldest son of the family, and no one but Toledo, who
always exaggerated the importance of his friends, called the second son
_Lord_ Lewis. He had been in Monte Carlo for twenty-five years, and the
old employees in the Casino, seeing his bald head sadly bowed above the
gaming tables, recalled the gentleman of former times, elegant, gay, and
vigorous. He had come to the Riviera, on one of his Byronic
"pilgrimages," and there he had remained, not caring to see any more of
the world. The passion for gambling was the one inexhaustible pleasure
for this man who had tried them all, and who was bored by the majority.
The real Lord Lewis, a solemn person, who maintained the prestige of the
family name, had several children, and had served his country in various
high positions in the Colonies. As for the Colonel's "Lord," he was
gradually losing all his former connections, and becoming a mere Monte
Carlo gambler.
"Twenty-five years!" he had remarked with sadness one day to the Prince.
"And I shall never be able to do anything else! It's too late now to get
a fresh start. My life is ended, and they will bury me here, I'm sure;
all that I inherited from my father, and all that several old aunts left
me will remain here. There have been times, when I saw things as they
are, and undertook to run away. But when I'm at a distance, I feel
violently indignant. I remember that I've dropped more than a million
here, I think that I ought not to resign myself to the loss, and in
order to recover it, I come back at once to play, and lose again. I
shall go on doing like that until I die. Besides, there's the
castle...."
Michael was acquainted with the castle. It was on a peak of the Maritime
Alps, in sight of Monte Carlo, near the village of La Turbie and the
remains of the Trophy of Augustus which marks the ancient Roman road.
During his first years of life on the Riviera, the aristocratic Lewis
had bought for a few thousand francs the ruins of a lordly stronghold
that possessed the romantic tradition of having witnessed wars with the
Counts of Provence, and scenes of family violence and murder. The son of
the Historian, fonder of sport than of literature, considered it a
matter of filial homage to reconstruct within sight of the Mediterranean
a castle such as his father had described in telling the legends of his
country. Part of his fortune had gone into this. The rest had been
devoted to gambling. "With what I win," he used to say to himself, "I
shall finish the castle." And since he imagined he would win fabulous
sums, he started the reconstruction on a gigantic scale, directing it
himself, according to the architectural fancies he had studied out from
the drawings of Gustave Dore. The castle had remained half built,
standing thus for many years. On the one side that was completed, the
walls displayed huge gloomy-looking windows with stained glass. On the
side opposite, the timber of the scaffolding was rotting; the unfinished
walls stood there meeting at right angles, and the wind and rain entered
the future drawing rooms, for lack of a fourth wall to shut them off.
They were open to the view like a stage setting.
Whenever Lord Lewis' friends did not meet him in Monte Carlo it was
because he was out of money, and was staying in his castle, sadly
contemplating all that remained to be done. He lived in one of the wings
that was most nearly completed, and passed the lonely hours in fighting
with his peasant neighbors, the market people, and with every one in the
district in fact, who considered it a duty to annoy him and exploit him
in every possible way.
Whenever a remittance of a thousand or two thousand pounds sterling
arrived from England, he proudly descended from his mountain to the
Castle. He had a great aim in life, and he felt he must accomplish it.
This time he was going to triumph! And when, after exciting
fluctuations--his capital sometimes increasing, as though his hopes were
about to be realized--he finally lost everything, Lewis would return to
his refuge on the heights, and to his hermit's life, in hopes of new
remittances, which were less frequent and more difficult to get each
time.
The Prince had visited him once, in this new yet crumbling stronghold,
to invite him on a long voyage on his yacht. But Lewis refused. He must
continue his duel with the Casino to get back his money; he was under
obligation to finish his undertaking.
The war had awakened him for a few weeks from the grip of his wild
dream. His brother had died a few weeks before; but countless young
nephews still remained. They had given up their comforts and pleasures
in high society to offer their lives. Some of them, who were in the
navy, had embarked on small vessels, torpedo-boats and submarines,
seeking the greatest dangers; others entered the army as officers. A
niece of his even, delicate in health, had been decorated on the firing
line, for her sacrifices as a nurse.
"And I, miserable selfish man that I am," he said, in talking with the
Colonel at the Casino, "go on being a mere Monte Carlo gambler. I ought
to be out there, where the men are, but I can't.... I can't! My days are
over; I'm a corpse that eats and sleeps just to go on gambling. Add to
that the fact that some of my relatives, older than I am, are in the
army!"
At the age of fifty-four, the consciousness of his moral decay, and his
continual losses, had embittered his nature. Besides, the evenings that
luck was against him he kept going out to the Casino bar, seeking
inspiration in one whisky after another gulped down in haste. Heavy set,
with square shoulders, a small head, deep blue eyes and a red mustache
streaked with gray, he reminded Atilio somewhat of a wild boar, perhaps
because of his aggressiveness and gruffness when he was in a bad humor.
He gambled with his head sunk between his shoulders, his strong hands
resting on the green baize, without looking at any one, and without
allowing any one to talk to him, since it disturbed his calculations.
The days when things were going wrong, and he was having arguments in
regard to some doubtful play, with the employees or with those who were
sitting near him at the tables, Lewis's outburst of rage broke the
discreet calm of the gaming rooms. He insulted the croupiers, inviting
them to step outside on the Square, while his biceps swelled like a
prize fighter's. It was necessary to call one of the principal
directors to pacify him with all the paternal considerations which a
steady patron deserved.
This man, who in his youth had believed in neither God nor devil, lived
a constant prey to superstitions which were Castro's delight. He
detested strange faces, feeling certain that they exercised on him an
evil influence. It was enough that he should see one across the green
table, or behind his seat, to cause him to begin to growl in an
undertone, until finally he would get up and go out to the bar, with the
idea that a whisky taken in time would change his luck. His intimate
friend, the only one who could live with him for several days in
succession, was a French count, older than Lewis, and who was simply
called by his title, as though he were nameless, or as though he were
just naturally "The Count." The latter never gambled, but he was ever so
wise, in spite of the fact that many people considered him insane! One
day, thirty years ago, he had stepped out of his house in Paris, saying
that he was going out to buy some tobacco, and he had not yet returned.
His wife had died without seeing him, and his children, and countless
grand-children, who had been born and had grown up during his absence,
were anxious that he should never finish making his purchase.
While Lewis played, the Count, seated on a divan, quietly read some
book, without paying any attention to the curiosity of the public, which
stared at his long white hair brushed back, his enormous wild-looking
mustache, his round green eyes, gleaming with phosphorescence like those
of a night hawk. Castro's curiosity was aroused by the Count's books.
They were always new volumes of the sort that are never seen in any book
store, and are published by obscure unknown firms; conscientious
treatises on the nectars and ambrosias of modern life--opium, cocaine,
morphine, and ether--formulas by which one can enter into direct
communication with the mysterious powers--spirits, hobgoblins, and
familiar demons--old books of magic brought to light by up-to-date
sorcerers.
He never deigned to give his friend advice as to gambling; his thoughts
were on higher things; but Lewis felt surer whenever he raised his eyes
and saw him, by chance, reading in a corner. As long as he was there, he
always won, or at least he did not lose much. His presence was enough to
conjure the evil power of the infinite number of enemies which the
Englishman felt were surrounding the table. Besides, he was aware of the
object which the Count was fondling secretly with one hand, while he
went on reading.
After he had had the misfortune to lose for several days in succession,
Lewis would come to him, entreatingly:
"Count, my dear Count, if you would please lend me your Satan's rosary!"
The learned personage would look up, doubtful and hesitating. But since
it was his best friend who asked for it, he would hand the rosary over,
which meant that one of his hands would be left without anything to do.
It was a rosary like any other, with large red beads and black ones to
mark off the tens. The chief thing about it was the group of objects
which hung in place of the missing cross: an ivory elephant picked up by
the Count in India, an authentic coin of the Emperor Constantine found
in the excavations at Anatolia, and another charm which even Lewis could
scarcely look upon without a sense of revulsion.
Ill luck was vanquished. At times Lewis had lost while he was secretly
telling the beads of the diabolical rosary under the table; but he
always lost less than when he was deprived of the marvelous talisman.
He only cared to remember how one afternoon, aided by the obscene
sacrilegious thing so highly prized he had succeeded in winning eighty
thousand francs.
If he stopped winning it was the Count's fault. He was as fickle as a
coquette. He would suddenly disappear, repeating the same unexplainable
flight that had amazed his family. He never left Lewis to go and buy
tobacco; but if any of the books he bought told about some narcotic used
in Asia to enable one to see the future, or about a gypsy woman in
Granada who could kill people by merely wishing and saying a few words,
then off he would go, accepting as gospel truth the saying of some
anonymous writer who had never been out of Paris. He never lacked money
for these mysterious trips: doubtless his family was interested in
keeping him at a distance. He might be three months or five years in
reappearing. At last the rumor would reach Lewis that his friend was
living in Nice or Cannes, and he would then write him frequently,
inviting him to come over to Monte Carlo. He even used to go after him
and the Count would allow himself to be brought back with his mysterious
books and his prodigious rosary, without ever saying a word about what
discoveries he had made on his trips.
On seeing Lewis, after a year's absence, the Prince was obliged to
conceal his surprise. Nothing save the clear, quiet, gentle eyes,
recalled the vanished freshness of the athletic and elegant gentleman.
He had grown thin in an alarming manner, with the emaciation of illness.
His skull seemed to have shrunk, and across his baldness strayed the few
scattered ashen locks that still remained.
A remark made by the Colonel came to his mind. Toledo had made a study
of the decadence of gamblers. It was when they reached the last limits
of depression and despair that they began to stoop, to shrivel up, and
become wrinkled. Lewis' hat was getting too big for him; each day it sat
farther down on his head until it rested on his ears. His shirt collar
was also getting larger, as though it were making room for his sorrowing
heart to take flight.
During the lunch, Lewis, Castro and Spadoni kept up the conversation.
They talked about gambling and the Casino, but no one dared ask the
Englishman if he had been winning. He had a superstitious fear of this
question, as if it brought misfortune. On the other hand, he talked
about other people's good luck, and the great stakes that had been won
in a night. He kept in his mind all that he had been told, and all that
he had imagined he had seen during twenty-five years of life at Monte
Carlo. An American had gone away with a million; an Englishman had won
ten thousand pounds sterling with five _louis_ that he had borrowed.
Thus he went on talking about the wonders that had happened in the
Casino. And after that could there still be people to assert that all,
absolutely all, of the gamblers, lose in the end?
With eyes that glistened with astonishment and greed, the pianist
listened to the tales of the "Dean of the Gamblers." Castro was more
skeptical. He had heard of these extraordinary winnings, and of many
others, but had never witnessed a single one of them, although he had
been coming to Monte Carlo for a good many years. It was true that he
had seen as much as five hundred thousand francs won in a single night.
But the next day things had changed, and the winner had lost all his
gains, and all the money he had brought, into the bargain, finally being
obliged to ask for the customary viaticum in order to be able to return
to his country.
"I think," he said, "all these stories are invented by the advertising
department of the Casino. They tell me they have engaged a popular
novelist, whose business it is to start a story like that every week, in
order to encourage the gamblers."
The Prince smiled at this invention of his friend, but Lewis would not
listen to jokes on such a serious subject, and asserted that he had
witnessed everything that he related. He was lying unconsciously in
making this statement. In reality he had seen the same things as Atilio:
people who won to lose later on; but he felt the need of the
supernatural and was inclined to believe everything in advance. He had
the soul of a fanatic, who, when told of a miracle, affirms a few days
later with sincerity: "I saw it with my own eyes."
Every now and then the Prince would eye Castro, expecting to surprise
some ironic glance, something which would reveal his impressions in
regard to the visit he had received that morning. Lewis' presence seemed
to have obliterated all memory of anything unrelated to gambling.
When the luncheon was over they talked in the hall, over their coffee,
about those who played for big stakes in the private rooms. The names of
some of them were spoken of with respect, as though they were masters,
worthy of admiration.
"So-and-so knows how to play," was the one comment.
The amusing part of it for Michael was the fact that Lewis also figured
among the masters "who knew how to play," and every one of them lost,
like those who were "ignorant." Their one merit rested on their ability
to put off the hour of final ruin, and prolong the annihilating emotion,
growing old like prisoners in the shadow of the rocky cliffs of the
Principality.
The Prince looked at Castro once more, as at a clever enemy who is
hiding his thoughts. He ventured to ask a question.
"And how does my relative, the Duchess de Delille, play?"
Atilio looked at him, with not so much as a mischievous twinkle in his
eyes, surprised at the interest shown by the Prince. But before he could
reply, Lewis broke in with an answer. The latter hated women, especially
at the gaming tables. They were only a nuisance, interrupting the
calculations of the men, with their nervous looks and gestures.
"She plays like an idiot," he said brutally. "She plays like any
woman.... The money she's lost like a fool!"
Castro intervened as though desiring the conversation to go no further.
"How about the Count?" he asked Lewis. "Where is he? The Colonel is very
much interested in him."
Don Marcos gave an exclamation of surprise and reproach. He had formed
his own opinion of that person a long time ago. He was a crazy man! He
would never forget the brief dialogue they had had one afternoon in the
Casino, after Atilio had introduced them. On learning Toledo's
nationality he had launched into a great eulogy of Spain. Oh, Spain!
What an interesting language it had! And when the Colonel was about to
thank him for his extreme politeness, he was dumbfounded by the
following remark, that took away his breath:
"Because, as you probably know, Spanish is the preferred language of the
devil, after Latin. The most powerful charms are written in Spanish.
What wonderful necromancers in Toledo! What learned sorcerers in
Salamanca!"
The old soldier who had fought for the Most Catholic king was always
greatly disturbed when he thought of the Count and his rosary. For this
reason when Lewis declared that he had no idea of the whereabouts of his
friend, he solemnly replied:
"I know where he is: in a mad house."
Suddenly the roar of a train was heard passing Villa Sirena, accompanied
by shouts and whistling. They were more Englishmen on their way to
Italy.
This caused them to take up the subject of the war. Lewis, who had
imbibed freely at the table, was overcome at once with an intense
sadness, the talk of gambling having reminded him of the worthlessness
of his life. His intoxication was of the solemn, melancholy kind.
"Two of my nephews died in the Jutland naval battle. Six of my brother's
sons were killed in France, in a single afternoon: they belonged to the
same battalion. They were all young, spirited, and anxious to do
something. I'm the only man left in the family; I'm the worthless one,
the old man, good for nothing. It's terrible!"
No one said anything, realizing the shame and despair of this man, who
seemed to be weeping over the ruins of his aimless existence. Novoa
nodded slightly, as though approving of his words.
"My family is extinct. And there were so many young men in it! Life is
strange. Time goes by without anything extraordinary happening, and then
all of a sudden the hours are like months, the days like years, and in a
few minutes things take place that usually require centuries. All dead!
None left but my niece Mary, the nurse. She is here; her superiors
ordered her away almost by force, to take a rest and recuperate. But,
anxious to resume her service, she got away to Menton and Nice, where
there are wounded men. If at least she would only marry! But it can't
be: she will die like the rest. And I shall remain alone, and be a lord,
the third Lord Lewis; Lord Lewis the Historian, Lord Lewis the Colonel
Governor, and Lord Lewis the Wastrel...."
At this point they all stopped him in affectionate protest. The
misfortune of his family had been extraordinary, but he ought not to
torture himself like that.
"If you don't mind, Prince," said the Englishman, changing the
conversation, "some day I shall bring my niece to let her see your
gardens. She is so fond of such things! She is the only one of the
family to inherit my father's spirit."
After saying that, Lewis showed signs of desiring to go. It was
necessary for him to forget, and he knew where oblivion was waiting for
him. For a gambler like him, it was no more possible to sit still than
it would be for a drunkard who is thinking of a bar with its rows of
glasses. Castro and Spadoni exchanged several glances with him.
"What do you say to dropping in at the Casino?" one of them proposed.
And all three disappeared.
The Colonel also left, and the Prince spent the remainder of the
afternoon talking with Novoa, walking about the gardens, and looking at
the sunset. Finally, he sat down in the hall under a tall rose-shaded
floor lamp, to read.
Castro returned alone, long before the dinner hour. He was sad; he
whistled occasionally. His smile was a savage grin. It had been a bad
afternoon. He had lost everything! The next day he would have to ask his
relative for a fresh loan in order to return to his "work."
Once more Michael felt compelled to talk to him about the call he had
received that morning. It was better to have a frank explanation and
avoid ironical allusions.
"Yes, I saw her," Castro said. "I watched you from a window while you
were walking through the gardens."
The Prince looked at him, astonished at his brevity. Was that all he had
to say? At present he felt he would have preferred his joking.
"What of it if she did come?" at last he said brusquely. "That's
natural; poor woman! I warn you that you've begun the conquest of an
enemy."
He had met "the General" in the Casino. She and Alicia had just had
another reconciliation, and to seal their renewed friendship with a
fresh burst of confidence, the Duchess Delille had related her interview
with the Prince.
"Dona Clorinda used to be unable to stand you. She considered you a
frivolous fellow, a worthless loafer. But now she praises you to the
skies, because of your cancelling that enormous debt, and proposing to
help the Duchess. She says you are like a knight of old times, and that
you are big hearted."
Michael shrugged his shoulders. A lot he cared what Dona Clorinda
thought! This exasperated Castro.
"Why shouldn't your relatives come here?" he said sharply. "You're
getting bored living just among men all the time. You don't believe it,
but it's true. It's the same with all of us. One has to talk with a
woman from time to time, even if it's only out of friendship. What you
claimed when you came from Paris is impossible."
"Perhaps you think I'm going to fall in love with Alicia?"
And the Prince laughed for a long time, as though never tiring of seeing
the funny side of such an absurd supposition.
"You'll find that out later on," Castro replied. "All I have to say is
that we can't live much longer as enemies of women. Look at the
Colonel: he's your 'Chamberlain,' your Aide, the man who obeys you
blindly. Well, even he is deserting you. Just notice: whenever he can,
he spends his time in the Porter's lodge. He has to talk to the
gardener's daughter, a little brat he used to see crawling around on all
fours, but who is sixteen now, and not bad looking. She worked in a
millinery shop in Monte Carlo, but follows the styles like a young
society girl. The Colonel keeps her provided with high-heeled shoes,
short skirts, tams, and smart hats, and buys her imitation amber beads.
That's how he spends all the money you allow him to take for his
services. Sometimes he follows her at a distance in the street, admiring
her seductive outline and her ankles, much in evidence, and always in
silk-stockings. He patiently cultivates his garden; and smiles like a
fool when he thinks of his future harvest."