CHAPTER VII

A new personage entered the lives of the dwellers in Villa Sirena. The

Colonel announced with enthusiasm this friend whom Dona Clorinda had

introduced.

"He is a Spanish Lieutenant in the Foreign Legion. He lives in the hotel

which the Prince of Monaco gave up for convalescent officers. His name

is Antonio Martinez, a very common name which reveals nothing of his

character; but he is a great soldier, a hero, and I don't know how he

manages to survive his wounds."

The "General" who kept track of all the soldiers of a certain

reputation, as soon as they arrived in Monte Carlo, had been anxious to

meet this Lieutenant, and had taken him under her protection. The

Duchess de Delille was also interested in him, and the two women, proud

of being his _marraines_, showed him off in the anteroom of the Casino,

rented carriages to promenade him around to the most beautiful spots on

the Riviera, and treated him to the finest war-time foods and pastry

that they could find. With his lungs injured by German poison gases, he

had also received a hand grenade wound on his head, and suffered from

time to time from nervous trouble, which caused him to fall to the

ground unconscious. The doctors talked despairingly of his condition.

Perhaps he would live for years, perhaps he would die in one of these

crises; the important thing was that he should live a quiet life,

without any deep emotion. And the two ladies, who knew the real state of

his health, lamented it when he was not present. He was so young, so

affectionate, and so timid? On the breast of his mustard-colored

uniform, attached by red ribbons, as a symbol of bravery given to the

foreign battalions, were the War Cross and the Legion of Honor.

Clorinda, who considered that she had greater rights over him because of

having "discovered" him, thought for awhile of taking him to live with

her in order to be able to take better care of him. But as she was at

the Hotel de Paris, she did not, like Alicia, have an entire villa at

her disposal. And the latter, although tempted by her friend's

suggestions, did not dare to take the convalescent into her home. People

liked to talk, and she, without saying why, was afraid of their gossip.

In the meantime, they both took the Lieutenant everywhere, protesting

that, because of his uniform, he was not allowed to enter the rooms of

the Casino. One afternoon, Dona Clorinda, with all the natural boldness

of her character, took him to Villa Sirena. It was a shame that the

handsome building and its vast gardens should be given over to five men

who did nothing for humanity at all. Often in her imagination, she had

converted it into a Sanitarium filled with invalid soldiers, with

herself at the head of it as director and patroness. But her suggestions

had no effect whatever on the Prince. "A selfish fellow," she said to

herself, returning to her former opinion.

As long as it was impossible to occupy the Villa with a band of

convalescents, she took the Spanish officer to show him the gardens,

without first asking Lubimoff's permission.

The latter was able to see at first hand the hero of whom Don Marcos,

during the last few days, had talked so much. He saw nothing in him to

indicate extraordinary deeds. Martinez was a youth, ready to blush when

forced to tell what he had done in the war. Without his uniform and his

insignia of honor, he would have seemed like a poor office clerk,

modest and resigned and incapable of being anything else. His appearance

contrasted with the deeds which, after much pleading, he would finally

be persuaded to confess. He was twenty-six years old, and seemed much

younger, but it was a sickly sort of youthfulness, undermined by wounds

and hardships.

Lubimoff, who hated the swagger of boastful heroes, felt at first

disconcerted, and then attracted by the simplicity of this officer. If

he had not known from Don Marcos the authenticity of his prowess, he

would have taken no stock in it.

Somewhat intimidated in the presence of the famous owner of Villa

Sirena, Martinez confessed his humble birth with neither pride nor

timidity. He was poor, the son of poor people. He had tried to study for

a career, but the necessity of earning his living had caused him to

abandon books, trying the most diverse occupations, one after the other.

It was so difficult to earn one's bread in Spain! After fighting in the

Spanish campaign in Morocco, he had wandered through various South

American Republics, struggling all the while against poverty and ill

luck.

"There where so many common rough people get rich," he said, "all I

found was poverty, like that in my own country. When this war broke out,

like many other people, I was indignant at the conduct of the Germans,

and their atrocities in the invaded countries. At the time I was in

Madrid. One night some of my cafe acquaintances agreed to go and fight

for France. The person who backed down was to pay ten dollars. They all

repented their decision, except myself. Don't imagine that it was to

avoid paying the wager. I have my own ideas, and have read more or less.

I believe in republics--and France is the country of the Great

Revolution. I entered a battalion of the Foreign Legion, which,

composed for the most part of Spaniards, was being organized in Bayonne.

There are a very few left by this time; most of them are dead; the rest

are living scattered throughout the various hospitals, or else are

crippled for life. I knew what war was like from mountain warfare

against the Moors in the Riff country, and without seeking the honor I

had gotten as far as being a Lieutenant of Reserves in my own country.

Perhaps that is why they made me a Sergeant in the Legion after a few

weeks. But it certainly was hard! I had never imagined they would

receive us with a brass band! France has too many other things to think

of; but it was sad to see how badly our enthusiasm was interpreted. Men

called to arms by the laws of their country, and who were obliged to

fight, looked at us with jealousy and suspicion. The other regiments

considered us adventurers; or even escaped convicts. 'How hungry you

must have been at home,' they said to me at the front, 'to have come

here to be able to get something to eat!' And among us there were

students, newspaper men, young men from wealthy families, fellows who

had enlisted with enthusiasm--but let's not talk about that. In every

country there are vulgar minded people incapable of understanding

anything beyond their selfish, material wants."

His military experience was confined to trench warfare, endless and

monotonous, and to short distance attacks. He had arrived late at the

Battle of the Marne; and he, who imagined that he would take part in

gigantic combat, involving millions of men and the firing of immense

cannon, merely witnessed a series of struggles between small forces

hidden in the earth, and hand-to-hand encounters to win a few yards of

ground. Life at the Dardanelles was the worst of his memories. He hated

to think of that horrible campaign. The struggles in France seemed

rather placid compared to that fighting on a few miles of coast, with

the sea at their backs and unconquerable lines ahead of them.

After saying this he fell silent, and the Colonel had to insist, with a

certain paternal pride, that Martinez go on talking.

"Wounds, many wounds," he added simply. "I have lost count of the

hospitals that I have known in three years, and of the trips I have made

through France in Red Cross ambulances. When we are not killed outright,

we are like the horses in bull fights. They patch up our skins outside

the ring, strengthen us a bit and back we go into the arena, until we

get the final goring."

Toledo, becoming impatient at the young man's modesty, told the story of

his wounds. He received some in every period of the fighting. Some

belonged to modern warfare, produced by fragments of high explosive

shells, others came from machine guns, and even that cough which

interrupted his speech from time to time was caused by asphyxiating

gases. Others were made by knives, by clubbings from gun stocks, by

flying stones, and even by the teeth of the Germans in night encounters

and surprise attacks, in which men fought as they did in the infancy of

human life on this planet.

Prince Lubimoff could not help admiring this slight, dark young man, who

looked so insignificant. It seemed impossible that a human organism

could resist so many blows, and that his weak body could sustain so many

shocks without succumbing.

But Martinez, with the solidarity of all those who face danger, refused

all personal glory. He talked about the Legion as a soldier talks about

his regiment, as a sailor talks about his ship, considering it the

finest of all. He saw the entire war in terms of the Legion. The French

were all brave. Besides, no one could guess where the enemy would

attack, and wherever the latter assumed the offensive, they found troops

that withstood them and kept them from passing. But the Foreign Legion!

"The soldiers who fight at the front are men," he said, "men torn from

their families through the needs of the country. But we are fighters.

That is why in the difficult operations, when flesh and blood have to be

sacrificed, they send us forward. I am always, of course, only one of

many. But the Legion!... Every six months a new Colonel: He is killed

and another takes his place, he, too, is destined to die. And how the

enemy hates us! There is one thing we are proud of. Among the prisoners

that there are in Germany, there is not a single one from the Foreign

Legion. Any one of us who ever falls into the hands of the _Boches_

knows that he is a dead man: we are outlawed. And for our part, well, we

do our best too!... Even when they insult us from trench to trench, we

are proud of belonging to the Legion. One night, the enemy opposite,

hearing us speak Spanish, began to shout in our language. They must have

been Germans from South America. 'Hey, _Macabros_! Wait till we get hold

of you, and then!...' They threatened us with the most terrible

tortures. And they always nicknamed us 'Macabros!' I don't know why."

The Duchess de Delille admired the hero, feeling at the same time a

certain sense of uneasiness at the horrors which she guessed from his

words. "The war! When would the war be over?"

The Lieutenant shrugged his shoulders, smiling. People who live far from

the front were more impatient for peace than those who risked their

lives in the front lines. They had become accustomed to contact with

death. The war would last as long as was necessary: five years, ten

years; the main thing was to win the victory.

But Toledo, fearing that the conversation would get away from his hero,

insisted once more on his great deeds.

"I'm only one of many," said Martinez. "But as far as brave men are

concerned, I can recommend the Legion. That is where you'll find them.

And all have died!... At first we had men from every country. But the

Americans left as soon as their Republic intervened in the war; and it

was the same with the Italians and Poles. On the other hand, many

Russians, when their regiments were disbanded, joined the Legion. There

is nothing extraordinary to tell about myself. And they have rewarded me

so highly for the little I have done! Being a foreigner I have two

ribbons. Besides, I shall never forget the moment when the Colonel, a

week before they killed him, called me, and said, 'Martinez, the General

has given me four Crosses of the Legion of Honor for our Legion. One of

them is yours.' And he put it on my breast in front of a whole battalion

of brave men presenting arms. It was unforgettable: it was worth a life

time."

It was the truth. Colonel Toledo affirmed it, nodding his head, his eyes

wet with tears. Later, with selfish jealousy, Don Marcos tore him away

from the ladies, who were busy for the moment, talking with the Prince

and his friend.

Walking through the gardens, the Colonel gazed at his hero with a look

of tender protection, such as an artist who has exhausted his talents

gazes at the increasing triumph of a younger, fresher, and more

successful colleague.

"Youth, youth!" he said. "You, Martinez, belong to the Spain of the

future; I belong to the Spain of past days, the Spain that will never

return again. I am convinced that the world is progressing in new

directions."

The Colonel kept up a frequent correspondence with many Spanish

volunteers in the Legion. He looked after them with all the affection of

a _marraine_, sending them chocolate, select edibles, everything that he

could spare from the Villa Sirena pantry, without impairing the service.

Some of the letters which came from the front made him weep and laugh.

One volunteer asked him to send a good Spanish knife, having broken his

own in a night attack. Another dreamt of a Browning revolver. Who would

give him a Browning? He had only an ordnance revolver, an undependable

weapon that had failed him twice in an attack on a trench and had

prevented him from killing the German who finally wounded him.

With Lieutenant Martinez, the Colonel could let go all his enthusiasm

and give free rein to prophesies in favor of the Allies.

In the presence of Atilio and Novoa he was less talkative as he feared

their ridicule.

In order to tease him and make him mad they recalled the enthusiasm of

the Carlist party in Spain for Germany. Castro even pretended that he

was surprised that the Colonel was not a pro-German, the same as his

political friends.

"I am where I belong," said Don Marcos with dignity. "I am a gentleman,

and belong with decent people."

This was his supreme argument. Humanity was divided, according to him,

into two classes--the decent and the indecent. It was the same with

nations, and Germany was not to be counted among the decent.

As a patriot he suffered at seeing Spain outside the struggle, making an

effort to remain unaware of what was going on in the rest of the world,

putting its head under its wing, like certain long-legged birds that

imagine they can avoid danger by not seeing it. Happily, his country did

not figure among the indecent nations, nor was it any too decent either.

It was allowing a chance for glory to escape, and this stirred the

Colonel's wrath deeply.

For the last three months a fixed idea has been disturbing his happiest

moments. The Allies had entered Jerusalem. What a great joy for an old

Catholic soldier! But his joy afterwards made him smile bitterly. A

Protestant nation freeing the sepulcher of Christ for the third time!...

"Imagine, Martinez, if only Spain had been with the decent nations! We

have missed the chance of obtaining this glory, we who belong to the

nation that has showed the greatest faith. Even I, in spite of my years,

would have gone on the crusade. The Spanish entering Jerusalem

victorious! What do you think of that?"

But the officer replied, with a vague smile, "Yes, perhaps." It was

evident that the entry into Jerusalem and the empty tomb of Christ made

very little difference to him. Don Marcos was somewhat disappointed with

his hero, but he consoled himself with the thought that after all his

own ideas belonged to the Middle Ages. Decidedly, he and Martinez were

men of two different periods. "Youth, youth! You belong to the Spain of

the future; I to the Spain" ... and so on.

Yes; the world was progressing in new directions. He, himself, a few

days later, worried by the gloomy aspect of the war on the Western

Front, had forgotten all about Jerusalem. The Germans, freed from the

peril presented by Russia at their backs, after making peace with the

Bolsheviki, were concentrating all their troops in France, in order to

make a drive on Paris. The Allies, facing this overwhelming offensive,

could count only on their regular forces and those which the recent

intervention of the United States might bring.

In regard to aid from this latter source Don Marcos held a fixed and

decided opinion. In the first place he had felt towards the United

States a certain antipathy which dated back to the Cuban war. They might

possess a large fleet, because anybody can buy ships if he has money

enough, and the Americans were immensely rich: but how about an army?

Toledo believed only in armies belonging to monarchies, with the

exception of that of France, since in the latter country the glory of

military tradition was attached to the history of the first Republic.

At the beginning of the war, he had even been irritated by the

importance which every one had given President Wilson. Both sides had

turned to him, appealing to his judgment, and protesting against the

barbarities of the respective adversary. Even Wilhelm II cabled him

frequently to make a show of sincerity for his frauds, as though he

considered it important to gain Wilson's good opinion.

"Just as though this man were the center of the Universe! The President

of a Republic that had only a few thousand soldiers, a professor, a

dreamer!..."

He understood only heads of States in uniform, their breasts covered

with decorations, with both hands on the hilt of a sword, and with an

immense army before them, ready to fight in obedience to orders. And

this gentleman in a cut-away coat and stiff hat, with eyeglasses and a

smile like that of a learned clergyman, was now the man on whom the eyes

of half the world were focused with looks of hope, and he was the

deciding power that some were anxious to win over and others were afraid

of arguing with!

Atilio Castro laughed at Don Marcos. He was always out of sympathy with

the Colonel's opinions, and seemed impressed by this new marvel in

history.

"Times have changed since your day, Don Marcos. We are going to see

something new. America, which a century ago was merely a European

colony, will perhaps protect and save Europe now. In the meantime, we

are witnessing the curious spectacle of a former University professor

being the arbiter of the world. What would Napoleon say if he were to

see this ninety-four years after his death?"

Toledo gloomily assented. Yes; his days had passed. Democracy,

Republicanism, all these things that had made him smile, as though they

were something transitory, ineffectual and out of date, were very

powerful in the present world, and perhaps would finally take charge of

directing its affairs. Even he felt their irresistible influence. When

he saw how the President of the great American Republic protested

against the torpedoing of defenseless ships, the crimes of the

submarines, and finally declared war on the German Empire, Don Marcos

affirmed, stammering out a confession:

"This man Wilson ... this Wilson is a decent sort of a fellow."

For him it was impossible to say more.

He approved of the man through instinctive worship of personal power,

but refused to believe in the military strength of the United States. It

was a land of liberty, according to him, where all considered themselves

equals and this made it impossible to create a real army.

The Prince and Castro occasionally talked in his presence of the war of

secession, the first war in which millions of men had taken part,

applying, moreover, innumerable inventions, in which all the progress in

modern armament found its source. Toledo listened, with a doubt inspired

by distant events. This struggle had been among themselves: militia

warfare; but to raise an army of millions of men in a country that did

not have compulsory military service; to transport this army across the

ocean with all the immense quantity of supplies and munitions, and to

get them there, besides, in time to save Europe from the great

danger.... Mere dreams! "What they call over there 'bluff'!"

Don Marcos clung to this word in order to maintain his incredulity. This

race is accustomed to accomplishing tremendous things; Americans

conceive of everything on a large scale: cities, buildings, industries,

wealth; but afterwards they exaggerate considerably when they come to

advertising and describing what they do. Everybody knew that, and the

American military forces which were to crush German militarism and

re-establish peace on earth, although well-intentioned, were nothing but

one bluff more.

Castro approved of the Colonel's words for the first time, without any

intention of making fun of him. The President had declared war, but the

country did not seem disposed to follow him.

"They will probably send money, munitions, supplies, all the immense

power of their wealth and production. But a big army? Where can they get

one? How is an immense people accustomed to the volunteer system, and

living amid the greatest prosperity, going to take up arms? What would

they gain by doing so?"

But the Prince, who had often been over there, replied with an ambiguous

gesture:

"Perhaps! But if they really want to enter the war, who knows! Anything

might happen in that country, no matter how impossible it seems!"

The Colonel was gradually won over by the irrational enthusiasm of the

general public. Since the beginning of the war, the masses, who believe

in mysterious predictions and supernatural interventions, had always

had some favorite people, some nation that it had been the fashion to

regard as invincible and in which all hopes could be concentrated.

At the beginning it had been Russia, with its millions and millions of

men, the Russian "steam roller" that had only to advance in order to

crush Germany. Poor steam roller! When it had fallen to pieces, the

fickle enthusiasm of the public had turned toward England. Now it was

America, all the more miraculous and omnipotent because little known.

In all conversations one heard the name of an American, both at elegant

teas and in humble cafes; the one American well known in Europe: Edison,

the inventor. He would settle everything. Up to the present time he had

remained out of sight and silent, but now that his country had entered

the war they would see something miraculous. In a few hours, invisible

and implacable powers would crush to bits the invading armies; the

submarines would burst like shells under a sort of frozen light which

would pursue them in the ocean depths; the aeroplanes that bombarded

defenseless cities would be forced to descend, drawn by electric

magnetism, as a bird is drawn toward the mouth of a boa constrictor.

Edison, the wonder-worker, meant more to the popular imagination of

Europe than all the soldiers and all the ships of his country.

And Toledo, who decorated his bedroom with pictures of Joffre and Foch,

but believed at the same time that St. Genevieve, the patron saint of

Paris, had intervened in the victory of the Marne, felt attracted by all

the miracles of the American wizard, announced by every one as something

sure. Science, being somewhat apart from religion, inspired in him a

feeling of respect and fear. For this reason he believed blindly in its

wonders, much as a zealot believes in the immense powers of the devil.

At other times his incredulity was renewed. The war could only be

determined by troops. Up to that time the forces of both sides had been

equal; but now Germany was bringing new divisions--those from the

Eastern Front,--and was preparing the decisive blow. On the side of the

Allies an equivalent or greater number of soldiers was lacking; they

needed the last few drops which would fill the glass, cause it to

overflow and tip the scales. America might do this. But their forces

were arriving so slowly! The obstacles were so great! A few battalions

of the regular American army had already marched through Paris. After

that months went by without the constant tiny stream of reenforcements

becoming a torrent.

Everywhere on the Riviera, Toledo observed wounded soldiers from various

countries. Only from time to time was he able to distinguish a few

American uniforms, worn by men of the Medical Corps, who did not seem to

have much to do. The newspapers talked about forces from the United

States that occupied a sector on the front, but they were so few!

"All that talk about a million or two million men before the end of the

year is mere bluff," said the Colonel. "I know something about such

things, and it is easier to build a skyscraper with a hundred stories

than to transport a million soldiers from one hemisphere to the other.

And how about the great drive that is beginning! And France is worn out,

after four years of heroism that has drained her blood!"

Every day he walked up and down in the ante-room of the Casino, waiting

impatiently for the big bulletins which were written out by hand in

large letters and posted on the panels by the employees. In scanning

the latest telegraphic dispatches he was looking only for the beginning

of the offensive announced by the enemy. This menace had shaken his

faith in the victory, and kept him in a state of constant worry. Oh! If

only the Americans would come in time, and in enormous numbers.

He felt it his duty to lie unblushingly to the friends who surrounded

him in the ante-room, asking his opinion as a soldier.

"We will triumph; and William will have to shoot himself."

The question of his shooting himself was the one thing that will be his

end, in case of a defeat.

"I know the Kaiser very well," he continued. "He is only a Lieutenant, a

Lieutenant that has grown old, keeping the cracked brain swagger of

youth. But he has the sense of honor of an officer who, finding himself

defeated, raises his revolver to his head. You will see that that will

be his end, in case of a defeat."

"He writes verse, music, and paints pictures, giving his opinion on

every matter, and making people accept it, like one of those young

officers who on entering a drawing room of civilians monopolize

attention with their insolence and conceit, emboldened by the silence of

the guests, who are afraid of provoking a duel. He is the eternal

twenty-two-year-old Lieutenant whose hair has grown gray under the

imperial crown, whose head has been turned a bit by the constant

triumphs of his personal vanity. But once Fate turns her back on him, he

will act in the same decisive manner as an officer who has gambled away

the funds entrusted to his care, or committed other crimes against his

honor.

"Never fear; the Lieutenant will know how to act when the hour of

adversity arises. He is a mad man, a vain comedian, but he has the sense

of shame of a warrior. Let me repeat: He will shoot himself."

And in his imagination he could hear the Imperial revolver-shot.

What disgusted Don Marcos was not to be able to talk about this, nor

about the danger of the offensive, when he was in Villa Sirena. The

friends of the Prince lived like guests at a hotel. They never were all

together except during the early morning hours. They rarely sat down

together at table. Some power from the outside seemed to attract them

away from the Villa, driving them toward Monte Carlo. Even the Prince

often lunched or dined at the Hotel de Paris, sending word at the last

minute by telephone.

This domestic disorder was accepted by Toledo as providential.

The service had suffered an unavoidable decline through the departure of

Estola and Pistola. One morning they appeared, stammering and filled

with emotion, minus the dress suits which were too large for them. They

were going away. They were to cross the frontier that very afternoon to

appear at the Barracks. They had received orders from their Consul.

They did not seem filled with enthusiasm for their new profession; but

Don Marcos, through a sense of professional duty, tried to buck them up

with a bit of a speech. He, too, at their age, had gone off to war of

his own accord. "Respect for your officers ... love them as you would

your father ... for honor ... for the flag."

The appearance of the Prince cut short his harangue. The two boys kissed

their master's hand as though they were taking leave of him for

eternity, and in their confusion they did not know where to put the bank

notes which were given them. Imagine Estola and Pistola converted into

soldiers! Even these two boys were being driven along the road of death!

And the whole thing seemed so extraordinary to Michael, so absurd, that

while he felt sorry for them, he also felt like laughing.

Half an hour later he had forgotten all about them. The Colonel would

manage to organize new service with women, now that owing to the war it

was impossible to get other servants. Besides, he was bored at Villa

Sirena, and living at Monte Carlo would be something of a novelty for

him.

The idlers who promenaded around the "Camembert" frequently saw him

enter the Casino with an absent-minded air, like a gambler who has just

thought of a new combination. The crowd in the gambling room had also

seen him approach the tables as though interested in the fluctuation of

chance, but they waited in vain to see him place a bet, imagining that

he would play nothing save enormous sums.

His eyes seemed to see in all directions, and no sooner did the Duchess

de Delille leave her seat to go over to another table, than the Prince

came forward to meet her, extended his hand and smiled youthfully.

They remained motionless in the spot where they greeted each other,

gazing into each other's eyes, until, warned instinctively of prying

glances behind their backs, they went and sat down on a divan in a

corner, and continued their conversation there. Suddenly, a murmur from

the crowd around a table would cause her out of professional curiosity

to leave Lubimoff and to hasten thither.

Alicia would smile the proud bitter smile of a dethroned queen. During

the preceding day people had talked of nothing save her. Her name had

traveled as far as Nice and Menton. In the evenings, at the dinner hour,

families who dwelt permanently in Monaco and who are forbidden to enter

the Casino, asked for news of her luck. In the cafes and restaurants,

her name resounded, mingled with those of the Generals who were

directing the war. In front of the bulletins giving the latest news,

people interrupted their comments on the coming offensive, asking one

another, "How did the Duchess de Delille come out yesterday?"

Afternoons, when she arrived at the Casino, sightseers crowded about her

to get a better view, and her friends greeted her, proudly kissing her

hand. It was a silent ovation, consisting of glances and smiles, like

that which greets the entry of a famous soprano on the stage which has

witnessed her triumphs.

Her battle with the Casino lasted about two weeks; she won, lost, and

won again. She began her "work" at three o'clock in the afternoon, and

remained at it until midnight. The tea hour passed, then the dinner

hour, without her being aware of it. When the gambling was closed she

came away, leaning on Valeria's arm, greeting every one amiably,

exhausted and victorious. Sometimes, like an invalid fed against her

will, she accepted the sandwiches and a cup of tea which her companions

brought her at the gambling table.

One night--a memorable one--she had won continuously up to the closing

hour of the Casino. She counted the bank notes that the head employees

had given her with a hard, enigmatic smile. There were four hundred of

them, each of a thousand francs. They protruded from her hand bag and

from Valeria's. Even her friend, "the General," was obliged to help her,

by taking care of several packages of them.

"If they hadn't closed I would have broken the bank," she said with the

vanity of a conqueror.

Clorinda accompanied her in the carriage as far as her house, repeating

prudent advice: "Don't go on; keep the money. It is impossible to go

any higher." Valeria, during the course of the evening, kept repeating

the same words: "It is tempting God to keep on."

But Alicia refused to listen to her. Her inspiration was not exhausted.

There still remained great things for her to do; and when the time came

for her to stop, she would be aware of it sooner than the rest.

Michael had been present at this struggle, which had been annoying to

him. Every afternoon, when he entered the Casino, he called himself

names, as though he were doing something cowardly. Why did he come to

witness the acts of that mad woman? She did not seem to be aware of his

presence! At first a look, a smile, and during the remaining hours she

had eyes for nothing save the gambling and the _croupiers_. In spite of

this, the Prince kept coming regularly.

To excuse himself, he recalled certain words which the Duchess had said.

The day following her first famous winning, she had arisen on seeing him

enter the room, taken both his hands in hers to speak to him privately.

"You bring me good luck," she murmured in his ear. "I am sure that this

is so. I have been winning since we became friends. Come, come all the

time! Let me see you every time I raise my eyes."

She raised them, however, very, very seldom. She had other more urgent

things to think of. But Michael, to quiet his angry conscience, told

himself that he was there to keep his word. Besides, who knew but what

she was telling the truth! The tendency to superstition, common to all

gamblers, the Casino's surroundings and even Alicia's luck itself, had

finally influenced the credulity of the Prince.

He tried to avenge himself for these long waits and her indifference by

looking at her with scornful eyes.

"How ugly she looks!"

Yes, she was ugly, like all the women who gamble and seem to suffer at

an ever increasing rate, the weight of years crushing out their youth

under the stress of emotion. Every loss meant another year, every

winning meant a look of tenseness which spoiled the regularity of their

features. Michael took a certain joy in noting the wrinkles which fixed

attention formed about her eyes. Her nose seemed to grow sharp, and two

deep furrows drew down the corners of her mouth, giving her an

expression of premature old age. All the little feminine attentions

disappeared as the hours went by. Her hat tilted to one side; locks of

hair made an effort to escape, as though disarranged by currents of

human electricity darting among their roots. She seemed ten years older.

But a second voice within gave forth a different opinion. "Yes, she was

very ugly, but so interesting!" Surely when she arose from the table she

would be once more the same Alicia as ever.

One afternoon, on entering the Casino, he had a sense of something

extraordinary happening. People were talking together, asking news, all

of them hurrying toward the same table.

His friend Lewis passed him without stopping.

"It was bound to happen. She doesn't know how to play. I expected it."

A little farther on Spadoni came forward to greet him.

"She would never listen to me. She acts on her whims. She doesn't follow

any system. She is done for."

All the gamblers were talking as though they were lamenting somebody's

death; but it was a question of hypocritical compunction, inwardly they

felt a sense of envious triumph on seeing at an end that absurd run of

luck, which had embittered their evenings.

Lubimoff, thrusting his head between the shoulders of two onlookers, saw

Alicia at the same time that she raised her eyes. Their glances met. She

looked at him with dismay, as though lamenting, making him responsible

for her misfortune. "Why did you abandon me?"

The Prince fled: it hurt him to see her with that humble look of rage,

like that of a cornered sheep, bleating in pain and defending itself.

At nightfall he returned to the Casino. A few people were still talking

about the Duchess, but in low tones, with sad gestures, as though

referring to a dying person. The crowd had thinned about the table. He

saw Alicia in the same place. Valeria stood behind her chair, with a sad

face, while Dona Clorinda bent over her friend, talking in her ear. He

guessed her words. She was pleading with her to come away: next day she

would have better luck. But she did not seem to hear, and remained with

her eyes fixed on the few five hundred and a thousand franc chips, which

were all that remained. Suddenly she lost her patience, and turning her

head she said one word, nothing more, something very strong, but nothing

without precedent in that intimate friendship which was broken off at

least once every week. Dona Clorinda immediately retorted, looking

daggers, and went away, haughtily and disdainfully, while Valeria looked

at the ceiling in despair.

Michael fled once more. He was frightened by the expression on Alicia's

face and the nervous hostility in her voice, which he had not been able

to hear, but which was easily guessed from the trembling of her lips. He

wandered about the rooms for half an hour, listening at a distance to

the words of those who were still talking about the Duchess. One

afternoon had been sufficient to sweep away all that she had won in

many successful days. Her misfortune was as extraordinary as her good

luck had been. She had not won a single bet.

Suddenly he felt the contact of a nervous hand on his shoulder. He

turned his eyes. It was Alicia, but with an eager gesture, and with an

expression which was both bold and imploring.

"Have you any money?"

Her voice and the expression on her face were not unknown to Michael.

Before the war, the Casino had been the scene of his most unexpected and

dazzling conquests. Women who were very cold and treated him with

visible antipathy, and women of well-known virtue whose very looks

repelled all audacity, had approached him with an air of sudden

decision, requesting a loan, and immediately asking point blank at what

hour the Prince might offer them a cup of tea at Villa Sirena. He

thought of the Colonel, who considered gambling the worst of women's

enemies. It caused them to lose all sense of shame. In a few hours the

standards built up during an entire lifetime were suddenly demolished.

In order to go on gambling, they offered of their own free will what

they had never thought of granting.

The Prince replied, with surprise, at this sudden request. He carried

very little money on his person: he was not a gambler. How much did she

want?

"Twenty thousand francs."

She mentioned the figure in the same manner as she might have said a

hundred thousand or five thousand. It was the same to her at that

moment. Besides, during the last few days she had lost all sense of

values.

Michael replied with a laugh. Did she imagine, by any chance, that he

came to the Casino with twenty thousand francs in his pocketbook, as

though he were a money lender or a pawn broker?

"Ask for a loan," said the Duchess. "They will give you anything you ask

for."

He went on laughing at this absurd proposition, but was won over

immediately by the simplicity with which Alicia formulated her request.

"How about you? Why don't you ask for one?"

Oh, as for her!... In the midst of her proud triumph, she had forgotten

to pay various debts contracted before her sudden burst of luck. At

present it was useless to ask. It was a difficult moment for her; every

one considered her ruined, and incapable of recouping.

"And they are mistaken, Michael; I feel the inspiration of luck. You

shall see how I get on my feet again after a few days. It is my secret.

If I tell it to you, fortune will abandon me. Do me this favor! Ask for

the twenty thousand from that little old man over there who is looking

at us. He can't refuse you; you are Prince Lubimoff. If you like we will

form a partnership: I shall share half my winnings with you."

Michael kept on smiling, while inwardly he was scandalized by this

proposition. Imagine the things in which this woman was trying to

involve him! He, asking for money from a money lender in the Casino!

But, like certain invalids who do things most contrary to their will, no

sooner did he leave Alicia with gestures of protest, than his legs

mechanically took him in the direction of the divan where the old man

with the short beard, and the badge of the Sacred Heart on his lapel,

was squatting, with his hat in one hand and a silk cap on his bald head.

"I need twenty thousand francs."

The Prince seemed to be in doubt as he faced this little man, who had

arisen, surprised and suspicious on seeing that he was talking with so

lofty a personage. Was it really his own voice that he heard? Yes, it

was his voice, but he felt a sensation of immense surprise, as though it

were some one else who was talking. He felt a desire to withdraw without

waiting for the gnome's reply; but the latter had already responded,

stammering:

"Prince ... such an amount! I am a poor man. From time to time I do

favors to distinguished people, two or three thousand francs ... but

twenty thousand! Twenty thousand!"

He muttered this sum with a groan of torture, but meanwhile his shrewd

eyes were penetrating Lubimoff like a probe. This look irritated

Michael, causing him to take an interest in the operation as though his

honor were at stake. Doubtless, the usurer was thinking about Russia,

and the disaster of the revolution and of the impossibility of being

paid this loan even though the great man were to offer all his fortune.

"You must know me," he said in an irritated tone. "I am Prince Lubimoff;

I am the owner of Villa Sirena. I need twenty thousand francs; not a

franc less. If you are unable...."

He was about to turn his back on him, but the dwarf humbly restrained

him, considering useless on this occasion all the excuses and delays

which he usually made his clients endure, like a slow torture. He

slipped out between the groups of people, begging "His Highness" to wait

an instant. Perhaps he did not have the entire sum with him, and was

obliged to ask for aid from the Cashier of the Casino; perhaps he was

going to secrete himself for a moment in the lavatories, to take bank

notes from various hiding places in his clothes, even from his shoes.

Michael felt a discreet hand touch his own, thrusting between his

fingers a roll of paper. The old man had returned without his seeing

him come; bobbing up between two groups, small and sprightly, like an

imp from a trap door on the stage.

"You know the Colonel? To-morrow he will interview you about the payment

and the interest."

And the Prince turned his back without more words, leaving the usurer

satisfied with his discourteous brevity. A great gentleman could not

talk in any other way. He liked to have dealings with men of that sort.

Alicia, who had followed the scene from a distance, came forward to meet

him, holding out her hands inconspicuously.

"Take it!" Michael's right hand thrust the bank notes forward so rudely

that the offer was almost a blow.

His shame for what he had just done expressed itself in a confusion of

protests.

"Women! Of all the fool things I have ever done!"

But Alicia, with the bank notes in her hand, was already thinking of

nothing but the tables.

"You will see great things. You know we have formed a partnership: you

get half."

Mastered once more by the invisible demon that was singing numbers and

colors in her ear, she went away without thanking him.

He also left. He was afraid of meeting the money lender again, and

having him bow familiarly; he imagined the entire crowd in the rooms had

followed attentively his interview with the old man and had smiled when

he received the money.

He left the Casino. He would never come back again: he swore it!

Castro, whom he had seen from a distance gambling at one of the tables,

returned to Villa Sirena at the dinner hour. He was in a bad humor; but

he forgot his own misfortune long enough to console himself by relating

Alicia's mishaps:

"After losing everything in _trente et quarante_, she appeared at a last

minute with more money: a roll of thousand franc notes. And she, who

never felt any special inclination for roulette, began to play the

wheel. And how she played! At first she won a few long shots, two or

three; but after that nothing: she kept losing and losing! She left

everything on the table. I did not see her go out, but they told me she

looked like a corpse, leaning on Valeria's arm. They say she suffers

from heart trouble. All I say is: it isn't every one who pretends to be

a gambler that is one; you need a strong constitution. The 'General'

doesn't play so much, but she is cooler and doesn't lose her head."

Michael slept badly. He was angry with Alicia. Instead of lamenting her

misfortune he considered it logical. Imagine a woman trying to make

money! Women can only get it from men's hands, and it is useless for

them to try and get it for themselves, even by appealing to gambling.

Gambling also is an enterprise for men.

In the mental twilight when one is half asleep and half awake, the

Prince, lying on his bed, remembered a scene from his happier days, when

his yacht was anchored in the harbor of Monaco. It was one night when he

was coming from a banquet in the Hotel de Paris. He was slightly

intoxicated and was leaning in a sort of a mental haze on the arms of

two pretty women, who, smiling and unsuccessful, were competing to see

which one would get him. Behind him, like a retinue, came his friends,

his brilliant parasites, and various women guests, his entire court.

They had entered the Casino. He was not a gambler; it bored him to sit

motionless at a table; he considered it childish to get interested in

the whirling of a little ball of bone, or the combinations of little

colored cards. There were so many more interesting pleasures in life!

But that night, proud of his power, he felt a desire to fight a battle

with fortune. Fortune is a woman, and he was determined to conquer it by

the power of wealth, as he had conquered many another woman. The rich

finally defeat even destiny with all its mysteries. He placed in front

of him an enormous quantity of money to begin the struggle, and fortune

refused it; or rather, began to give him money of her own, with scornful

prodigality. The multi-millionaire wanted to lose and he could not. He

varied his game capriciously, committed voluntary errors, and success

always came forward to meet him. Finally he grew tired. It was before

the war, and instead of with bone chips representing a hundred francs,

they played with handsome gold coins of the same value. In front of him

he had numerous and dazzling columns of this metal; and packages of bank

notes.

"Who wants money?"

He began to fling it about in an enchanting rain. All except the most

aristocratic women came running, tense and pale, swarming around the

table, struggling for a single _louis_. They shoved one another, rolled

on the carpet, bruising each other with hands and feet, to gain a single

drop of this golden manna. Some of them struck and scratched each other,

while their right hands clutched the same thousand franc note, tearing

it. Hats rolled about on the ground; the hair of some of the women fell

down their back, or was scattered in a cloud of false curls.

"Me, Prince! Me!"

And with clutching fingers they danced about him, in a body, as though

possessed.

"Who wants money?"

The head employees intervened, angry but smiling, seeing who was the

cause of the disturbance. "Your Highness, please! You are interrupting

the play! Such a thing has never happened here before." But he continued

flinging his money, until he had exhausted his winnings--more than sixty

thousand francs--and the games went on again, with more players than

before. Every one who had gathered something from the floor or caught it

in the air, ran to risk it on a card or a number.

Michael dwelt on this memory which was like a triumph. He could repeat

it any time he pleased; he was sure of it. He recognized that in the end

every gambler finally loses, and he did not consider himself an

exception to this rule. But his will dominated fortune at first, and--by

withdrawing in time before the latter had a chance to recoup with the

perverse cunning of an untamable female!...

The Prince finally went to sleep thinking of Alicia.

"Poor woman! She doesn't know how to play; Lewis is right: She doesn't

know how.... How should a beautiful woman know, who has never thought

about anything save her own person! I must help her. I am a man. Perhaps

to-morrow ... to-morrow!" ...

The following day, at the breakfast hour, Don Marcos had a great

surprise which worried him considerably. The Prince, who never bothered

about money, allowing his "Chamberlain" to make negotiations directly

with his Paris manager for the house expenses, asked him what amount he

had at his disposal.

The Colonel made a mental calculation. He did not think he kept just

then any more than fifteen thousand francs. He was expecting a check

from the agent.

"Give it to me," Lubimoff commanded.

And immediately, as though suddenly recalling something, he calmly

mentioned the debt he had contracted the afternoon before. Toledo was

thoughtful for a moment on learning that he was to come to an

understanding with the old money lender to return the twenty thousand

francs and the payment of extraordinary interest, which might double in

a few days. He recalled the luncheon during which the Prince had

proposed their present solitary life. Where were the ferocious "enemies

of women" now? For the Colonel suspected that behind these squanderings

of the Prince and this sudden passion for gambling, lay the influence of

some woman. And he who never dared stake more than a few odd coins from

time to time, thinking of the enormous sums entrusted to his loyalty,

was deeply worried.

While Don Marcos was on his way to the bank where the house money was

deposited, the Prince walked about in the neighborhood of the Casino,

waiting impatiently for the rooms to open. In the morning the crowd was

very slight and very few tables were operating. Only the most desperate

gamblers, after spending a sleepless night, anxious to try their new

combinations as soon as possible, and sickly people who hoped to find a

good seat vacant, came at that early hour.

Impatiently Lubimoff entered the anteroom, after secretly thrusting into

a pocket a roll of bills which Toledo handed to him. The employees of

the first shift were arriving slowly, like clerks entering an office.

The cleaning women and porters in shirt sleeves had just swept up the

sawdust scattered on the floor. They all looked at him from the corner

of their eyes, pointing him out to one another by discreet nudges.

Imagine the Prince there at that hour, when people of his station in

life were still in bed! Instinctively they looked all about expecting to

see some coyly dressed lady waiting to meet him unobserved at that early

hour. His well-known reputation did not permit them to imagine anything

save a rendezvous.

It was ten o'clock. The curtains were opened, and Michael entered

brushing against the first gamblers to arrive, modest timid folk. He

felt the same nervousness, impatience, and dull anger that he felt on

the mornings when he had fought duels. He walked with a heavy step; his

hands kept contracting as though ready to strangle the empty air. At the

same time he felt the same proud confidence of a marksman, sure of

hitting the bull's-eye. He defied Lady Fortune before facing her, the

wench whom he had once conquered. "By God! She would see she was dealing

with a man this time!"

He jerked a chair away from a hand already stretched out to take it, and

sat down at a roulette table, between two dirty, badly dressed old

women, who looked like witches. The employees exchanged looks of

amazement, eyeing one another discreetly. The Prince betting, and at

such an hour!...

_"Faites vos jeux!"_

The game began. Michael had no particular combination and had not

thought of any. His eyes wandered over the thirty-six numbers, but only

for an instant.

"That's the one," he thought. And he placed all that he could, nine

_louis_, the maximum, on thirteen.

The ball spun about the mahogany border, and when it finally came to

rest was greeted with a murmur of amazement. "Number thirteen."

A few thousand franc notes thrust in his direction by the rake of the

_croupier_ remained in front of the Prince, who sat there impassively,

retaining a hard willful look. He knew it; he was sure he was making no

mistake. Thirteen once more.

People looked in amazement. What folly to bet twice on the same number!

But when thirteen won a second time and the Prince was paid the maximum

again, a murmur from the crowd applauded the victor. Onlookers came

hurrying, leaving the other tables devoid of spectators. This was going

to be as famous a morning in the Casino, in spite of the smallness of

the crowd, as the most celebrated afternoon and evening, when wealthy

players fought with luck.

Lubimoff changed his number. It was absurd to go on with thirteen. And

he placed nine _louis_ on seventeen. The ball spun around. It was

thirteen once more. He lost.

His look became harder and more aggressive. Dame Fortune was beginning

to laugh at him for his lack of will power. A conqueror should feel no

vacillation; it was his fault, for having given up his number. Men like

him should go ahead, and impose their will, or perish without abandoning

their first attitude. Thirteen as before!... And it was seventeen that

won.

For a moment he thought the ground was falling away beneath his feet; he

seemed to be floating in air, surrounded by mysterious forces that were

weakening and finally breaking his will. He passed his hand over his

forehead, as though trying to brush away, far away, his momentary

weakness.

"The she-devil," he exclaimed, mentally, insulting Fortune, sure once

more that he was going to enslave her.

And he went on playing.

* * * * *

At three o'clock in the afternoon he came out of the Hotel de Paris. He

had lunched alone, without paying any attention to the glances he had

received from other tables, avoiding friendly greetings that might have

started a conversation.

In his mouth was a fat cigar, and his legs, although perfectly steady,

inwardly felt a certain voluptuous sensation. The food had been bad; he

had scarcely touched the dishes; on the other hand he had drunk a bottle

of famous Burgundy, and several glasses of cordials immediately after

finishing two cups of coffee.

From the hotel steps he gave a glance of destructive hate at the square,

the Casino and the Gardens. He thought with satisfaction of the

possibility of a cruiser belonging to one of the nations which were

carrying on war on the seas of Europe anchoring in front of that

gingerbread house, and firing a few shells at it. What a wonderful

sight! Then, in his imagination, he had a landing party with their

machine guns disembark, to take prisoner all the people who were filling

the square, men, women and even children. The world would lose nothing

by it. What a city of corruption! Why the devil had his mother taken it

into her head to buy the promontory of Villa Sirena, obliging him to

live near this den of thieves? He even upbraided the dead Princess, with

the stern uncompromising morality of every gambler who has just found

himself tricked.

As he glanced over the gay, well-dressed crowd that he was condemning to

slavery, he saw Alicia, alone and on foot, on the edge of the sidewalk

around the "Camembert," looking at the Casino.

"Are you going in?" he said, approaching her.

The Duchess became indignant, as though he was proposing something

humiliating, something that she had never done before. She enter the

Casino?

"It's a rotten den, and the employees are rotters, and those who

gamble--rotters too."

It was all rotten! After saying this they took each other's hands as

though they had just suddenly recognized each other.

When Michael, still harping on his kind wishes, told her about the

bombardment and landing party with machine guns that he had been

enjoying in his imagination, the Duchess almost applauded. As far as she

was concerned, she would be very glad if they destroyed everything, if

they even took the sovereign Prince himself prisoner, and if, into the

bargain, the invaders returned the money she had lost, she could want

nothing better.

Suddenly, as if these charitable fantasies of Lubimoff told her of

something, her eyes scrutinized him closely, much like those of a

suspicious invalid who is able to recognize his own symptoms in those of

a neighbor.

"You have been gambling."

Michael nodded sadly.

"And you have lost," she continued; "that goes without saying: I don't

need to ask you. You, gambling!"

But her surprise was short.

"You have been gambling for my sake: I have guessed it. You said to

yourself: 'I'm going to win what that crazy woman loses; men know more

than women.' Oh, my poor boy, my poor boy, how grateful I am for your

friendly intention!... How much was it?"

On hearing the sum she gave him a look of compassion, but smiled

immediately, as though the comradeship of misfortune made her own losses

easier to bear.

They remained silent for a moment. Then she explained her presence on

the square. The night before she had sworn she would never again come

near the Casino, but habit...!

"I'm alone. Valeria went away immediately after lunch. She goes around

like a crazy woman on account of that scientist you have at your house.

They must have made an engagement somewhere. All she talks about is

Spain, because the women there marry without dowries. As for 'the

General,' don't talk to me about her: I don't want to hear her name;

she is dead--dead forever, as far as I am concerned! And I'm so bored

all by myself; I think of things that make me weep; I go out, and my

feet take me here without my realizing it."

Then she added with a graceful entreaty:

"Take me somewhere, wherever you feel like. Let's go a long ways from

here. Where can we go?"

The Prince showed the same hesitation. They continually moved in the

same circle, from their houses to the center of Monte Carlo, the Casino,

and seemed lost if they tried to go any farther. The war had done away

with private automobiles; to go on an excursion it was necessary to get

a permit in advance. One could find nothing save carriages drawn by

feeble horses, rejected by the Army.

"Suppose we go to Monaco?" Alicia proposed.

Monaco was in sight, on the other side of the harbor; a street car ran

from there to Monte Carlo every twenty minutes, and nevertheless she

made this proposal as though speaking of some remote country.

They had both spent some twenty years there, continually seeing the rock

which bore on its crest the old city of the Princes; but, as though

those places were painted on a back drop in the theater, it had never

entered their heads to go that far. Alicia vaguely recalled a visit to

the Palace of the Sovereign and another to the Museum of Oceanography,

without being able to formulate her impressions. Lubimoff also from his

automobile had seen the garden, the old houses, and a large square, the

one day that he had visited the Prince of Monaco in his old castle.

They decided on the trip with the glee of school children, and when the

Duchess went to call a cab, Michael showed a certain hesitation as he

searched through various pockets.

He had no money. He had dropped it all in the roulette, absolutely all.

At the hotel he had asked them to charge his lunch, handing over his

last few francs to the waiter as a tip.

Alicia greeted his worried look with bursts of laughter. Lubimoff unable

to pay a cabman! Monte Carlo was the only place where you could see

things like that.

"Poor boy, I'll pay. You can deduct it from the twenty thousand I owe

you. No; not that, no; it will be a gift. You have given women so much

money, let me be the first to pay a bill for you. What a luxury! I

'keeping' Prince Lubimoff."

They had gotten into the carriage, which was beginning to descend the

slope toward La Condamine harbor.

"How people stare at us!" said Alicia. "They will think I am carrying

you off by force. The Duchess de Delille, ruined, seduces a

multi-millionaire Prince to make him her lover and get money out of him

... and they don't know that I am the one that is paying! Come laugh a

little. Are you annoyed that I should pay? Don't you think it is

amusing?"

She talked of her lack of foresight and her folly with a certain pride,

as though it were something which placed her above people of regular

habits. The evening before she had been afraid of not having enough

money left to buy food for the next day. But Valeria had spent the

morning making valuable discoveries in the closets! Bank notes lost

among the clothes, Casino chips forgotten among the books, and even a

thousand franc bill used to wrap up an old cake of soap.

She suddenly stopped enumerating these finds.

"Look! Look!"

They were beside the harbor. She pointed out a lady who was walking

along the shore, among the tall rose-bay bushes trimmed in the shape of

trees. It was Clorinda. A gentleman who seemed to be waiting for her

rose from the bench, and came forward to meet her. They both recognized

Atilio Castro, and observed how he and "the General" greeted each other,

and how they continued their promenade together, so absorbed in mutual

contemplation, that they did not notice the carriage.

Michael smiled slightly. Himself there, beside Alicia, who was causing

him to commit every sort of folly; and the other man waiting there for

Dona Clorinda's arrival with all the emotion of a youth! Poor enemies of

women!

"Don't talk to me about her!" Alicia exclaimed in a rage, in spite of

the fact that her companion had said nothing. "I hate her.... Think of

poor Martinez forgotten. She quarrels with me to get him, takes him away

from me, and then comes in search of Castro, while the other unhappy

fellow is wandering about Monte Carlo. What a woman! She has done me so

much harm! She is to blame for everything."

And as the Prince looked at her with a questioning air she explained her

complaints with a tone of conviction. Her losses which had been so rapid

and so complete, could not be explained logically. She had won for two

weeks, and in a few hours had lost everything. How could that be? The

evening before, as she was leaving the Casino, a respectable friend, an

Italian Marchioness, a former dancer, who was very wise in matters of

luck, and who had been gambling for the last thirty years in Monte

Carlo, had revealed to her the cruel truth: "Duchess, there is some one

who hates you; an envious friend who comes to your house and has cast an

evil spell over you. That is the only way to explain what has happened.

You must drive out the evil luck, turning it back on the person who gave

it to you.

"So you see it couldn't be clearer: an envious friend who comes to my

house--Clorinda; it can't be any one else. And no later than to-morrow I

am going to drive away my bad luck, in the way the Marchioness

recommended. Other gamblers follow her advice and are very successful."

It was the Three Wise Kings who possessed the power of undoing evil

spells. It was necessary to cleanse away the rooms which "the General"

had entered by burning in a small pan gold, incense and myrrh, the three

presents of the monarchs who had come from afar. She had no gold; it was

inaccessible on account of the war; but, according to the

Witch-Marchioness, it would be the same if she burned wheat.

"And at the same time recite a prayer in Italian, a very pretty entreaty

to the Three Kings, that sounds like a song, that says--that says----"

Unable to remember it, she opened her hand bag. She kept the prayer in

her coin purse, written in lead pencil on one of the cards furnished by

the Casino to keep track of bets. Michael looked at the contents of the

purse with the curiosity always inspired by every object belonging to a

woman who interests a man. Beside the mussed handkerchief he saw a

little leather case, and hanging from it a gambler's fetish, a hand with

the index and little finger extended like horns, to ward off bad luck.

But beside the hand there hung another golden fetish, of such an

unexpected, unheard of form, that Michael refused to believe what had

passed before his eyes like a rapid vision.

Alicia drew back, pushing aside his inquisitive hand: "No, no!" And she

closed the purse so rapidly that the silver rings almost caught his

fingers. Blushing and smiling, she held him off, giving him a sly look,

and at the same time shrinking like a naughty child.

"It is a gift from the Marchioness. The best she knows, to bring luck.

Mine has gone. That is all you need to know. How curious you are!"

And while she pretended to be somewhat angry in order to avoid new

explanations, Michael recalled the Rosary of Satan belonging to his

friend Lewis and its strange ornaments.

The carriage began to ascend the slope towards Monaco. The ships and the

harbor seemed to sink with each turn of the wheel. Verdant shades cooled

the road, within sight of the luminous sea and of the yellowish

mountains, that were taking on a rosy color under the afternoon sun.

Michael explained to his companion the strange features of the

promontory that serves as a base for old Monaco. On the Southern part,

among the rocks covered with century plants and prickly pear, the

vegetation of the warm countries becomes acclimated with a facility that

if one takes the latitude into account is truly extraordinary. On his

visit to the palace of the Prince he had found in the warmer moats of

the fortress, which are like natural hothouses, the same damp sticky

heat that one finds in the forests of Equador, with their Brazilian palm

trees that rise many yards in quest of light. On the other hand, without

leaving the rock, one finds on the northern side, where there is little

sunlight, ferns from the cold countries, vegetation from the Vosges

Mountains, which got here no one knows how, and took root beside the

Mediterranean.

Alicia, not wishing to seem less informed, talked about the San Martino

Gardens. She had not seen them, but she imagined that they were between

the Museum of Oceanography and the Cathedral. Valeria had not been able

to talk about anything else during the last few weeks, and described

them as though they were the most interesting gardens in the world. She

had seen them in good company, and this had exerted a strong influence

on her powers of vision. It was doubtless Novoa who had revealed to her

this Paradise.

"Supposing we were to meet them!" said Alicia, laughingly.

The carriage passed between two little towers, capped with tiles, that

marked the entrance to the walled enclosure of Monaco. The harbor lay

far below, with its boats that seemed so tiny. On the other side of the

sheet of water shone the cupolas of the Casino and the many Monte Carlo

hotels, with their multi-colored facades, the windows of their balconies

and belvideres. It was impossible to make out the people. Automobiles

were gliding along like tiny insects on the slope that descended to La

Condamine.

They followed the asphalt avenue, between two narrow dense gardens,

leading to the Museum of Oceanography.

"Look at them!" said Alicia with an expression of triumph, as she nudged

the Prince at the same time.

When the latter turned his head all he could see were two indistinct

forms hiding in a side path.

"It is they, you may be sure," continued the Duchess, laughing. "They

were walking in the middle of the avenue. Valeria is very quick; she

turned when she heard the sound of a carriage, and recognized me

immediately. She hurried the scientist away as though she were dragging

him along."

She stopped laughing, and her features took on a look of sad solemnity.

"Happy pair! What dreams! We have all gone through the same thing. The

worst of it is that we want to keep on going in quest of something

further, when we ought to remain satisfied with what we have."

The Prince nodded, repeating briefly:

"Happy pair!"

His voice sounded like a _requiem_. These successive meetings had made

him think of the end of the community of which he was the ridiculous

head. First of all, Castro; then, Novoa. Even the Colonel at that very

moment was walking up and down in front of a millinery shop waiting for

the gardener's little girl. Spadoni was the only one left, but his

loyalty counted for little. As far as the latter was concerned, nothing

feminine existed except the roulette wheel.

The carriage stopped beyond the Museum of Oceanography, where the San

Martino Garden began. Alicia paid the driver.

"We must economize," she said gravely. "We shall return on foot."

They followed a network of winding paths, ascending and descending the

gulleys of the slope. The tiny plateaus had been converted into stone

lookouts, from which the view embraced an immense expanse of sea.

Occasionally at dawn one could distinguish the distant profile of the

Mountain of Corsica. Since the gardens were far above the Mediterranean,

the horizon line was so high that one seemed to be looking upwards when

viewing it. The pine trees rose in slender black colonnades and between

the thin trunks one could see the dark Mediterranean suspended like a

curtain. Only the murmuring tops of the sharp trees emerged in the

diaphanous azure of the skies. Below the vegetation was composed of wild

hardy plants breathing out strong odors, plants that were unaffected by

the salty exhalations of the sea; prickly pear, lobes of which were

surmounted by red fruit; small century plants whose twisted blades

intertwined like tentacles of green pulp.

Alicia admired this garden. According to her it was a maritime garden,

in harmony with the nearby Museum and the landscape. The trunks of the

trees seemed like the masts of ships; the plants amassed at their feet

had the radiating enveloping form of the monsters of the ocean depths.

Other vegetation of a foreign origin recalled images of warm countries,

and of distant parts, filled with odors and swarming with crowds of

yellow and copper-colored men. Through the straight trunks of the trees,

one could see five schooners, motionless on the horizon with their sails

hanging.

A train of smoke followed the evolutions of a slim torpedo boat steaming

around the white, timid flock, like a watch dog.

Looking over the stone balconies one could peer into the ocean to

enormous depths. The bold red cliff buried itself vertically in the

waters darkened by shadows, or took shelter behind landslides of rocks

continually surrounded by foam. On one side Cap-Martin advanced,

repelling the onrush of the waves, circles of white caps that constantly

succeeded one another, rising from the azure meadows; still farther on

lay the Italian coast, showing rose-colored through the melancholy

afternoon mist, and on the opposite side lay Cap-d'Ail and Cap-Ferrat,

above whose backs embossed with the green of the seas, and dotted with

the white of the villas--the golden winding sheet, which was to enshroud

the dying sun, began to rise.

"Beautiful! very beautiful!"

Alicia displayed a girlish delight. They sat down in view of the sea,

slowly drinking in the vibrant calm, in which mingled the trembling of

the pines, the deep churning of the invisible foam, the breath of the

azure plain, and the rustling of the earth, grazed by rosaries of ants,

by chains of caterpillars, and by the busy work of the black beetle, and

at the same time deeply stirred by the awakening of the roots.

From time to time human footsteps sounded on the sand of the winding

path. They came from invalids or convalescents who were passing through

the gardens on coming out of the Museum; people from Monaco returning to

their homes after having taken the sun on a bench; fat housewives who

kept their knitting in a bag; old men leaning on canes, who perhaps had

never gone to sea, but who looked like old Genoese sailors. Also a few

pairs of lovers passed slowly. They would appear at a turning of the

path with their arms around each other's waists, silent, looking at each

other, and observing that there was another couple on the bench, they

unclasped, and suddenly pretended to be carrying on a conversation. As

soon as possible they gained the nearest turning to resume their tender

entwining, not without having first greeted the Prince and the Duchess

with a smile, as though they saw in them another pair of lovers.

"And just to think that we have never come here before!" said Alicia.

"You, at least, own magnificent gardens; but I, living in a villa which

is simply a house with a few trees around it and has no other views than

the opposite building, have been so stupid to have spent the afternoon

in the Casino, dark and shut in like a wine cellar. How awful!"

She shuddered on thinking of the Casino. It seemed impossible to her now

that during the very hours when this garden lay stretched out beside the

sea, with its luminous sylvan splendor she should have been able to live

in that half light of artificial illumination or in that nasty,

unwholesome atmosphere.

"There are many beautiful things in the world," she continued, "for

which money is not necessary. Just to think that if we had not lost we

would not be here! It is almost better to be poor."

Michael laughed at her earnestness. No; it was not pleasant to be poor;

but she was right in saying that to enjoy many beautiful things it was

not necessary to have money.

"We, ourselves," she added, after a long pause, "have known each other

only since we lost our wealth. Who knows but what if we had been born

poor we would have understood each other better when we were young! I

have often thought so."

Of course! And since Michael had been there on the bench, beside her, he

had been thinking the same thing. Alicia's joy at the splendor of the

afternoon, her enthusiasm on seeing this rustic garden overlooking the

sea, far from certain people, without whom she formerly would have

thought life intolerable, far from gambling, which was the only remedy

to fill the emptiness of her life--all this flattered and delighted the

Prince, like a discovery in harmony with his desires. At present he saw

her in a very different light from that in which he had imagined her in

former years. And he, too, surely seemed like a very different person in

her eyes than he had in the past. Before, they had been separated by an

enormous wall, wealth, that gave rise to pride and eagerness for

domineering.

He felt the need of going on talking. Something was surging within him,

causing words to rise to his lips in an irresistible tide.

A voice within seemed to warn him. "You are going to commit some

monstrous folly. Look out!--You are on the road to mixing up your life

again----" It was the old Lubimoff in him that was talking; the Lubimoff

who had recently arrived from Paris to take refuge in his Ark, far from

the vain longings that make up the happiness of the majority of men; it

was the stern chief of the "enemies of women."

But the harsh, mournful inner voice awoke no echoing response. The

Prince despised this phantom that still remained within him, lamenting

over the ruins it found there.

Up to that moment he had been inhaling with delight the perfume of that

woman. It seemed to mingle with the perfumes of the afternoon,

communicating its essence to all Nature. He saw the sky, the sea, the

trees, and everything in fact in terms of her, as though she filled all

space.

He, too, had made a discovery that afternoon. He thought with horror of

the loneliness of Villa Sirena, just as she had been thinking of the

Casino. These gardens which every one might enjoy, seemed to him more

beautiful than those he owned, and which every one envied him. How had

he ever been able to walk around his villa, through its magnificent and

lonely avenues, when there existed in the world the marvelous pleasures

of sitting on a public bench beside a woman, or walking close to her,

with an arm around her waist, like those poor soldiers and sailors?

Once more he heard the voice: "Fine, Prince! In love like a school-boy

when you're over forty. Go on with your foolishness, if it amuses

you!... What would the other 'enemies of women' say?"

But he refused to listen to this last protest from the other hostile and

forgotten half of his personality.

"Our life has been a mistake," he said aloud, with a certain vehemence,

in order not to show his emotion. "You, too, must realize that I think

the same--that I acknowledge my error--because I--because I, for some

time--have been in love with you!... Well, I have said it! Now laugh if

you like."

She did not feel like laughing. She gave a slight exclamation, looked at

him for a moment, and turned away as though avoiding the questioning

glance in his eyes. She had had a presentiment that this was coming,

sooner or later, but her breath was taken away on actually hearing it!

There was a long silence.

"What is your answer?" the famous Prince Lubimoff, adored by so many

women, finally asked with timidity.

Alicia looked at him again.

"Aren't you joking? Isn't it a mere whim inspired by the beauty of this

afternoon--so poetic?"

Michael protested with a gesture. How could she take as a caprice the

grave decision that he had finally reached after so long and difficult a

debate within, the way one evolves a truly great decision!

"If I were like most women, I would reply: 'How many women have you said

the same thing to?' But such a question is stupid. One may have said: 'I

love you,' to a woman, in all sincerity and some time later repeat the

same words to another, with still more sincerity. I'm not going to ask

you to how many you have said what you have just said to me. Perhaps you

never said it to any one before. To fulfill your desires it wasn't

necessary to exert yourself, playing a comedy of deep affection: they

sought you passionately; like a Sultan, you needed only to throw your

handkerchief as a signal.... But when it comes to me! Remember, Michael:

as children we hated each other; later on, when I was willing, you were

not. And now we are beginning to grow old! Now that I possess only the

remains of what I once was and haven't the same freedom any longer,

since I have--you know what...! It is absurd, and that is why I laugh.

No: never!"

It was the Prince's turn to speak. They had hated each other, that was

true, and now he considered that hate as fortunate. What a misfortune

for both of them if marriage had united their two enormous fortunes and

their two prides, more enormous still.

"We would have separated a week later; perhaps the same day," Michael

continued. "I even suspect that I would have beaten you."

"And I you," said the Duchess. "No place would have been large enough to

hold us both. It would have been necessary for one of us to give in to

the other. And neither one of us would have thought of making such a

sacrifice."

"I might say the same," he continued, "about the night when we dined

together. I am glad of my absurd and ridiculous conduct on that

occasion. Had I given in, there would be an invincible barrier between

us now; we would never have met again, and we would not be here saying

to each other what we are saying now."

She assented.

"We would not be here, that is certain. You would have kept a frightful

memory of me; I know very well what I was like then. Neither would I

have sought you out, even though my life depended on it. Thanks to your

flight that evening we can still be friends, eternal friends, brothers

if you like; but why do you talk to me about love? It doesn't belong to

our age. The time has passed. What do you see in me now that you did not

when I was young?"

"I see your misfortune."

The voice of the Prince sounded grave and deeply sincere as he said

this.

He had reflected for a long time, before answering, when he had asked

himself the same question as Alicia's. He was sure that he had begun to

love her the day when she had come to Villa Sirena to confess her ruin

and to ask him to forget her debt to him. Poor Duchess de Delille,

accustomed to spending millions each year, the proprietress of precious

mines, and having to live by gambling like an adventuress!...

Afterwards, beside her bed, seeing her tears, and listening to the great

secret of her life, the hidden motherhood that had made her weep, he had

become definitely conscious of this love. During the last few days,

seeing her victorious in the Casino, his love had been clouded; he cared

less for her. Later, finding her ruined and sick with sadness, his

affection was renewed; and to help her, he had even become a gambler,

he, who was incapable of doing this even for his own salvation!

"You can't understand me; you are a woman. Often in my life, other women

have said to me, after some unexplainable act of theirs: 'It is useless

to try: men can never succeed in understanding us.' I say the same: A

woman cannot understand a man either. I love you now because you inspire

pity in me, and pity leads to tenderness and tenderness is true love,

love such as I have never felt before. Each one loves in his own way.

The majority of women need to feel proud when they love; the person they

love must arouse the envy of others through being brave, handsome,

wealthy or talented. Man almost always loves through pity, through

tender compassion inspired by woman. He never feels more in love than

when a woman's head reclines against his breast with the abandon of

weakness; and when his hand is buried in her hair, it finds a tiny

delicate head--smaller than he had ever imagined--a head that is filled

with divine words, irresistible charms, and noble impulses, but which

rarely has that force of thought which makes man superior to her. Her

adorable arms are not strong enough to protect her. And man, seeing her

so lovely and so weak, feels his passion increase with pity and the

desire to protect her."

"No," she said. "Woman, too, knows the meaning of compassionate love. A

man for whom she feels indifference suddenly interests her, when she

sees that he is unhappy; and a woman, who hates her lover one day,

returns to him the next, when she feels that he is in danger. She never

speaks more tenderly than when she says, 'My poor little boy!'"

The Prince assented with a gesture. That was all very well. But

immediately he returned to the subject which interested him.

"To-day we both know misfortune; I, as well as you, since I have lost

what distinguished me from other men, and which I shall never perhaps

recover. But your situation is still worse; you are a woman, you are

poorer, and I feel attracted to you and tell you what I never would have

told you if, shut up within our own pride, we had both kept our former

places in the world."

He went on talking in a soothing tone almost in her ear, coming closer

to her, and breathing the perfume of the fur boa around her neck, which

seemed to have concentrated in itself the perfume of her whole body.

He repeated what he had thought in the nights when he had struggled with

his former dread; thoughts that he had vigorously resumed shortly

before, as he was sitting silently by her side in the carriage. He

talked of the future. They might still be happy; the love he offered her

was of the quiet, lasting kind; an autumnal love, a love that would be

for all time, with no dramatic complications, peaceful, tranquil,

sweetly uneventful, like the long winter evenings beside a fire.

She laughed with a pained expression.

"You forget who I am; you talk as though the past did not exist, as

though you were not yourself and as though all the stories that weigh

against my name did not exist. If some one else were to make me this

proposal, who knows!... I am weary and the thought of a quiet future

attracts me. But you!... With you it would be impossible: It would end

disastrously. I prefer that we be friends, without any thought of love.

It is safer and more lasting."

On seeing his look of dismay, Alicia went on talking. She was not afraid

of living with him because of what people might say. It is true that she

had a husband, who now in the throes of a senile passion would refuse to

grant her a divorce. But what did she care for an obstacle like that, or

for what people would say about it!... She had done more daring things

in her life!

"It is simply that I do not want to. Don't ask me why: I could not

explain it to you; or I should say, you would not understand me. I

repeat what other women have said to you: 'You are a man, and cannot

understand women.' No, I don't want to. I shall speak more plainly:

Another man might succeed in interesting me--I don't know. We are so

weak! Our wills play us such strange tricks! But with you, no.... We

know each other too well: It is impossible."

Michael spoke in a tone of sadness and chagrin.

"I don't interest you: that is easy to see."

Alicia once more laughed heartily and with one of her hands she tapped

those of the Prince which were clasped together.

"Silly! Do you really think I don't care for you at all. If I felt

indifferent toward you would I have sought you formerly, and would I be

here with you now?"

He was disconcerted. "Well, then?" And he made an effort to discover

what obstacle stood in the way of his desire. If it was on account of

what had happened in her past life, he had forgotten it. He, Prince

Lubimoff, had had many affairs that it was better not to recall.

"Let's not talk about the past at all. You are a different woman. I

know what your life has been during the last few years; besides, the

other morning you told me what you have been since your son began to

live by your side. I take you from the time you recognized the

seriousness of life, on seeing beside you a man formed from your own

flesh and blood. I have forgotten the Venus of former years, the Helen

of the 'old man on the wall.' I desire you, seeing you as you are

to-day, the Venus Sorrowful, weeping, suffering and in need of

consolation and care that will sustain and sweeten life."

She stopped smiling. Her lips trembled with a pitiful expression of

gratitude; her eyes were moist with tears.

"No," she said in a humble voice. "It is impossible for that very

reason. My son! How my son has changed me! I know what all this love

means. We are not two children to be deceived by dreams of purity and

talk about the soul and heaven, while our bodies are drawn together by a

natural impulse. If I accept your love, I know what that means at once,

perhaps before the dawning of a new day. Can you imagine such a thing?

My son,--I don't know where he is, perhaps he is dead. At least he is

suffering at the present moment hardships which a beggar woman would not

allow a son of hers to suffer, and I, in the meantime, abandoning myself

to a great love, to a passion such that it would absorb all my time and

thoughts, as though I were still in my early youth.... Oh, no! How

shameful! I know what love between us fatally demands, and it frightens

me. I feel powerless in the face of things which formerly seemed to me

as nothing. You have spoken the truth: I am a different woman."

The Prince regained hope on learning the nature of the obstacle. Her son

was still alive: he was sure of it, He had written to the King of Spain

and to influential friends of his in Paris; he had even sent letters to

Germany through diplomatic channels. They might find him any moment; he

would succeed in returning him to his mother's side. Why should the poor

boy stand in the way of both their futures? Her son knew life; the years

that he had spent with his mother had familiarized him with the

irregularities which are so common in the world of the fortunate. He

would not consider it unusual for her, submitting to a marriage that was

not a lie, to rebuild her life discreetly with a man whom she had known

since her youth. Besides, he would love him like a younger brother. He

could count on influential friends capable of helping the boy if he

wanted to work. When he died what was left of his fortune would go to

him.

Alicia clasped one of his hands with the tenderness of gratitude. "How

good you are!" But suddenly she dried her tears, and her eyes shone with

a glow of energy that seemed to reflect her struggle with herself, and

she continued, in a firm tone:

"No, no. I don't want to. I am looking to the immediate future: to what

would happen to us if I gave in to your glowing words; I can see my

son--or I should say, I cannot see him, I don't know what has become of

him, I don't know whether or not he is alive. I tell you no. It is

useless for you to insist."

There was a long silence. A soldier passed with his head bandaged

beneath his _kepis_ and a flower behind his ear. He was smiling at a

red-faced girl, who was leaning on his arm. They were both humming a

tune. The Prince and the Duchess separated slightly on the bench, and

remained in silence, he, looking on the ground, absorbed and frowning,

she, with her eyes on the horizon line, following the slow progress of

the schooners, the sails of which were filling with the breeze that

announced the coming twilight.

The obstinacy with which Michael kept his eyes riveted on the ground

caused Alicia to make a mistake. Her ankles showed somewhat owing to her

posture and her short skirt; trim ankles with the whiteness of her skin

visible through the meshes of snuff-colored silk.

"You are looking at my stockings?" she asked, her mood suddenly changing

from sadness to gaiety. "Look. What you see on the side there is not

embroidery, it is darning. My maid mends them nicely. What can you

expect? We are poor."

And doubtless, for the sake of amusing her frowning companion, she went

on to enumerate in gay tones the various difficulties arising from her

poverty. Oh, the war, with the terrible cost of living! Silk stockings

were so bad! One got holes in them after putting them on once, and they

came only at fabulous prices. She preferred to prolong the existence of

those that she had kept since the days of her wealth, because they were

stronger. She might say the same of her dresses. It had been two years

since her wardrobe had received any replenishing, so frequent before.

"We are poor," she repeated, with mock solemnity. "Besides, we are fond

of gambling, and, like all gamblers, we lose thousands of francs and

economize on the little things that make life pleasant."

She had been waiting for an enormous stroke of luck after which she

would stop playing and begin to think again of the wardrobe.

But the Prince, by his gestures and the expression on his face gave her

to understand how little he was interested in these confidences. It was

useless for her to try and change the conversation. Michael, offended by

Alicia's negative reply, was still absorbed in his question. Perhaps

with another man she would have shown herself more clement.

She realized that she must return to the subject which interested her

companion, and said with masculine frankness:

"I know what is the matter with you. I am going to forget we belong to

different sexes and talk to you like a comrade, just as I talked to you

that night in my study. I know the life you are leading; I know also all

about the 'enemies of women': a silly idea. What you need, after several

months of living alone like a maniac, is a woman. Choose from those

about you; you can find them whenever you like, younger and more

beautiful than I, who am beginning to see myself as I am. Why do you

choose me? Why do you disturb my tranquillity, now that I have forgotten

all about such things?"

The Prince smiled bitterly at the suggested remedy. He had often thought

of it. The censor that he kept within had repeated the same advice:

"Find a female, and it will all pass away immediately; a woman who

inspires only a momentary interest; no women and no love complications.

Do what you recommended to Castro." He had frequented the Casino with

the resolute air of a slaughter-house man about to choose his prey from

the flock. He would glance over the troop of girls in the gambling

rooms, who kept one eye on the green baize, while with the other they

watched the men who were walking about behind them.

He felt physically attracted by certain women; by one, because of her

features, by another, because of her figure or stature, and by some,

because of their strange ugliness or stimulating irregularity of form

and feature, which affected his nerves much as sharp or biting food

affects the palate. He had had only to make a sign or say a brief word

to many who, seeing themselves noticed by that famous person, smiled

ready to follow him. But suddenly he felt the dislike which is inspired

by things repeated to the point of satiety, and by the emptiness of

what is familiar to the point of weariness. He could not expect anything

new; he was horrified at the thought of the vain prattle of an unknown

woman desirous of appearing interesting; of the lies inspired by a

sudden and false sentimentality; and by the gross animalism of the

pairing which would end the tiresome preliminaries. No; he couldn't.

Only once, with a desperate energy of a patient gulping down a

disgusting medicine, he had followed one of these beautiful animals, and

shortly afterwards he felt disgusted with his baseness and ashamed of

his backsliding.

"It is you; you and no one else," he said gloomily. "You, or no one."

Alicia replied in the same grave tone. She knew by experience what this

meant "We desire with greater eagerness what is impossible for us to

obtain; we single out as unique whatever is beyond our grasp."

But these reasonings exasperated Lubimoff to the extent of making him

unjust.

"I know you," he said, drawing nearer on the bench, as he gazed at her

more closely, with angry, passionate eyes. "I know what you women are

like; you're all vain and revengeful. You can't forget the evening you

wanted me and I was not willing, and now you are taking delight in my

torment; you enjoy making me suffer."

"Oh, Michael!" she interrupted, in a tone of protest.

The Prince continued to express his rancour, and his indignation stirred

Alicia more than the humble question of a few moments before. It was the

desperate pleading of a patient who is past recovery and desires to

return to normal life.

"I love you.... I need you. I'll get you!"

Above the promontory of Cap-d'Ail the orange-colored globe of the sun

was descending. Its lower edge was already touching the undulating line

of garden and buildings. For a moment its rays were concentrated in a

sheaf seen through the colonnade of a pergola, as though showing itself

through an arch of triumph before dying. A dark azure light seemed to

emerge from the sea driving the fading gold of the afternoon from the

gardens.

"No!... No, I won't!"

Alicia's voice suddenly broke the vibrant silence with the tremulousness

of surprise, and immediately changed to a long gasp, as though something

were weighing on her lips. Michael had thrown both his arms around her

shoulders, mastering her, drawing her breast forward, pressing it

against his own. His lips sought hers, but she made an effort to resist,

by turning away with a violent straining of her neck. Finally the moan

of protest ceased. Both heads remained motionless.

"Michael ... Michael!" she sighed, freeing herself for a moment from the

caress. But a moment later she submitted again to those lips which

pursued hers so eagerly.

She spoke in a tone of surrender. She was suddenly back in her past

life, trembling at the contact of all those foreign things which seemed

absolutely new through long continence. His ardent lips had overpowered

her, awakened her from a dream that had lasted for years, in a sleep

longer and deeper than Michael's.

She forgot everything around her. Her eyes were still open but the

vision of the sea, the golden sunset in the sky, and even the pine

boughs forming a canopy above their heads, had disappeared from her

gaze.

Suddenly she saw them all once more, and at the same time she drew back

her shoulders repelling him.

"No, I won't.... Stop! They might see us. How crazy of us!"

The Prince was an athlete, but his emotion weakened him. Besides, his

energy was scattered in the double effort of trying to master the woman

and at the same time of enjoying her caress in the overwhelming fury of

passion. She bent and straightened several times, with all the

suppleness of a reptile, finally succeeding in escaping from the chain

of his arms, as she gave a sigh of weariness and relief.

Lubimoff, coming to himself again, saw Alicia standing in front of him,

smoothing her disordered clothing, and raising her hands to her hair, to

her tilted hat and her boa, which was slipping from her shoulders.

"Let us go," she said, with angry brevity.

And the Prince followed her, crestfallen, repenting his violence. After

walking a few steps, she seemed moved by his silence, which showed his

repentance, and smiled again:

"It is quite evident that from now on I must not see you alone. I forgot

that you were a sailor, accustomed to making port in a hurry without

caring to lose any time." They walked along slowly, in a tranquillity

like that of the serene twilight.

On leaving the gardens, they found themselves cut off by the Museum.

Must they return by the way they had come? Michael discovered on one

side of the building a rustic stairway cut at intervals in the rock, the

hollows of which were filled with brick steps. It descended to the edge

of the sea in various flights of stairs, and at the farther end, a walk

following the edge of the coast led to the harbor.

She hesitated for a moment at the archway of the entrance.

"I warn you," she said, shaking her finger at Michael, "that if you

return to your old tricks, I shall call for help. Do you promise me

you'll be good? Word of honor?... All right; go on ahead: I don't trust

you."

He went ahead down the stairway to explore. The walls of the Museum

seemed to expand as they continued to descend. Besides the building with

its roof at their feet, there was a second building below, rising with

its stone walls pierced by large windows, from the rocky slopes. At a

turn of the path, the Prince faltered to wait for his companion. She was

slowly descending, maintaining a distance of several steps between them.

Her feet were higher than Lubimoff's head, and it was only necessary for

the latter to raise his eyes slightly to see the stockings the darning

in which Alicia had explained.

With the lightness of a spring released, he slipped up the various steps

that separated them.

"Michael! I'll shout!" she exclaimed on seeing him coming, and she held

out her hands to repel him, trying at the same time to flee.

With his arms he had embraced the lower part of that adorable body. He

could not climb any further; Alicia's hands repulsed his head with a

nervous violence. And he in passionate madness pressed his lips to her

feet and her ankles, kissing her skirts wherever he could reach them.

She was angry at feeling that she could not stir and would be unable to

escape.

"Let me go! It's ridiculous! Stop!"

The Prince's hat rolled down the steps, knocked off by a blow from her

slender hands, as, blindly, she defended herself.

This incident brought him to his senses. Yes; as a matter of fact, it

was ridiculous. And as he saw that Alicia intended to retrace her steps,

returning to the garden, Michael to inspire her confidence ran down the

stairway without turning his head, to see whether she was following him.

They met at the edge of the sea, on the wide path that wound among the

loose rocks bordered with foam, and the nearly vertical walls of the

cliff. The flat places and hollows in the stone had been made use of, on

this promontory, that had so few soft surfaces, to construct the few

houses that sheltered the families of the employees in Monaco. Along the

upper edge of the cliff appeared the green line bordering the lofty

gardens and cut at intervals by the old works of fortification.

They were the sloping bastions, with sentry posts, like those one sees

in old engravings or in stage settings. Huge stone facings with Latin

letters sang the praises of the various sovereign Princes, who had built

these costly works of defense, now antiquated and worthless. Lubimoff

expected to see appear from these sentry posts a grenadier in a white

uniform with scarlet facings, wearing, above his black mustache and

powdered wig, a golden miter.

They walked slowly along in the twilight. Above them shone the orange

light of the setting sun, casting a mild red glow on the jutting rocks,

the trees, and the white and yellow facades of the buildings. At the

edge of the sea, the shadow was a deep blue shade, like moonlight

shadow. The sky, blood-red in the West, was invisible for them behind

the rocky cliffs of Monaco. They could see it only in the direction of

Italy, and there it was growing darker and denser every minute,

preparing for the first luminous piercing of the stars.

They met various fishermen who were returning home loaded down with

baskets and nets.

Alicia felt worried in certain bends of the path so completely

deserted. Later, on seeing a house or a passerby approaching, she

resumed the conversation. What she was afraid of was stopping along the

way, and sitting down with the Prince on the little parapet bordering

the seashore. In the meantime they continued walking!

Without protesting, she allowed Lubimoff to put his arm in hers, leaning

upon it. He expressed such deep humility! He seemed repentant for the

liberties he had taken; and asked her forgiveness with a pale smile.

Besides, he talked to her about her son with soothing optimism. All her

fears were unfounded; her son would return: he was sure of it. She would

receive good news almost any moment, perhaps that very night.

Her George was a man, and no matter how much he might love his mother,

some day he would fall in love with another woman whom he would care for

more deeply, and would build up a separate existence, like all the rest.

"And you, who may still consider yourself young, you, who have the right

to long years of happiness, do you want to give up everything like an

old woman? Why? Why be in a hurry about that?"

She bowed her head without knowing what to reply, and her emotion was

such, that she made not the slightest movement when his arm freed itself

from hers and encircled her waist. Thus they walked along, closely

linked, forming a single body, taking step after step mechanically,

without watching where they were going. With his eyes fixed on hers, he

closely watched her face, hoping for a glance, or a monosyllable that

would mean acceptance. Alicia was afraid of meeting those imploring

eyes, and turned her own away.

"Tell me yes," Michael murmured, "tell me that you will. It isn't for

nothing that we have met; it is not for nothing that you sought me out.

We shall rebuild our lives that have been so nearly wrecked by our

vanity and pride. Let us be, although it is rather late, what we ought

to be to one another."

"No," sighed Alicia. "I can't.... My son!..."

And immediately afterwards she hastened to murmur, as though repenting:

"Yes; perhaps ... later ... but not now. How shameful! When my mind is

at ease, when I don't feel this worry that is killing me. I love you; is

that enough? I love you."

These two words sufficed the Prince. He, who had gone to the farthest

extreme of domination with so many women without ever feeling satisfied,

contented himself with these brief words, which sounded in his ears like

happy music.

Instinctively, his arm dropped below her waist, while his other arm drew

her head to one of his shoulders.

There was a kiss, a long kiss, without either of them pausing in their

walk. Alicia offered no resistance, and shortly afterwards, her lips,

animated by a feverish awakening, responded to his kiss, making it more

passionate, more vibrant and endless. She no longer felt any fear; they

were walking along, and it was impossible for her lover to repeat the

liberties he had dared to take in the garden. Moreover, she inwardly

confessed, with a certain shame, the delight aroused in her by that

violence.

"I love you!" she sighed, without knowing what she was saying. "I love

you; but not that, no! Let us love each other like children. It is

ridiculous at our age--but so sweet."

At that moment Lubimoff's spirit was like her own. This simple kiss

seemed to him the greatest pleasure he had ever known. Life opened up

enchantments of which he had never dreamed. It seemed to him that he

was gazing on the most beautiful landscape in the world. How

interesting were the old fortifications! What a great man Albert of

Monaco was to build that lonely asphalt path, so that he might walk

along it with his lips pressing the lips of a woman.

They walked along as though they were intoxicated, in a continual zigzag

between the parapet and the wall of the cliff, their lips pressing,

their eyes almost touching, as though nothing existed beyond them, and

they actually imagined that they were walking in a straight line. From a

distance one would have thought they were two adversaries struggling,

staggering, as they jostled each other in the fight.

Suddenly mastered by desire, he stopped and refused to go on.

"No, no!"

Her will still shaken by her recent emotion, Alicia protested at this

danger, but she forced herself to reiterate her refusal.

His lips had separated from hers. There was an aggressive gleam in his

half-shut eyes. His hands fell upon her hips, and clinched like claws.

"I won't: I told you I won't! Come!"

She struggled in his arms with the agility of a gymnast, and in breaking

free from his grasp there was a sound of tearing clothes.

"Look, you villain! Look what you've done!"

She was standing motionless, a few steps away, with her fur boa falling

from one of her shoulders, while at the other she was looking for the

tear that her dress had just suffered.

Michael, behind her, saw that one sleeve was almost torn away, giving a

glimpse of her white flesh, and the seductive hollow under her arm.

He repented his violence, and the clumsiness of his hands, which like

those of a drunken sailor broke what he caressed.

Once more Alicia took pity on his childish embarrassment.

"No, don't worry about that. It is a dress I have had for two years: it

is so old, that it tears just by looking at it. That is one of the

inconveniences of walking with a beggar."

But she finally became worried by this tear which was so visible. She

was going to enter Monte Carlo on foot or by street car. What would

people say, seeing her in such a state!

"A pin: have you got a pin?"

This request increased the remorse of the Prince. Where could a man find

a pin? While Alicia was feeling for one without avail, he thought of

returning to the Museum or scaling the rocks to one of those houses

where the employees of the Prince live. He would have given a hundred

francs for a pin--but he remembered that his pockets were empty.

He began to search his clothes while she searched hers, although he was

certain that it would be useless.

Suddenly he smiled triumphantly.

"Here is your pin."

It was from his necktie! A famous pearl, admired by the women, and which

he had never been willing to give away, because it was a gift of the

Princess Lubimoff.

He was obliged to mend the tear at the shoulder himself, sighing with

vexation.

"You don't know how," said Alicia laughing. "Look out that you don't

prick me. How clumsy!"

But he finally felt glad of his clumsiness. He had to touch her naked

arm with his fingers; and he quivered as he touched the soft skin, which

preserved in its velvety shadows a certain mystery of passion.

"Look out!" she called. "Don't go back to your old tricks: I shall get

angry. It is all right as it is. Come on!"

She threw her scarf over the clumsy repair, and the pearl, which stood

out against it, with odd magnificence. They were walking along once

more, without any new attempted audacities on Michael's part. The last

incident had made him circumspect. Inwardly he called himself names,

considering himself a savage, incapable of living among real ladies.

As they reached the last bend they left the azure shade of the cliff.

Above their heads extended the last angle of the bulwarks, and a stone

sentry post; across the harbor, with its mouth flanked by two

illuminated towers, and on the opposite bank rose the heights of Monte

Carlo, with its huge buildings, and its glistening cupolas, which were

reflecting the last rosy fire of the twilight.

They both halted instinctively. In the middle of the harbor, the yacht,

the white yacht of the Prince of Monaco, lay motionless, tugging at her

buoy. Beside the nearby dock a few latine rigged boats were pitching,

moving their single mast, and a Spanish steamer, displaying its neutral

flag, was unloading sacks of rice, and barrels of wine. The presence of

various groups of men gathered in front of the boat made them prudent.

They were no longer alone. Once more they had entered the life of the

City.

"How short the road was!" exclaimed the Prince.

She thought the same. "Yes; how short!"

They could no longer walk together. It was necessary to say good-by

there, far from the crowd.

Alicia held out both hands.

"Nothing more?" sighed Michael.

The Duchess hesitated a moment. Then, with the agility of a young girl,

as though she were still the wild Amazon of the Bois de Boulogne, she

sprang for his open arms.

"There, there, and there!"

There were three rapid fiery kisses, that only lasted for a second;

three kisses that made Lubimoff think he had never felt one in all his

life, since he had never experienced the quivering that swept his body

from head to feet.

"More! Give me more!"

She laughed at his imploring look.

"Enough folly. Another time, who knows!--For the present I am worried

again. I am afraid to enter my house: I feel terror and hope. Oh, the

news that I may receive at any moment! Tell me; do you really think that

nothing has happened to him? Do you think he may come back?"