Even the new rooms were crowded, and preoccupied as he was, it struck
Vanno oddly, as it always did strike him anew in the Casino, to hear
every one who passed talking of the all-absorbing game. They were
obsessed by it, and threw questions to each other, which elsewhere would
have meant nothing, or some very different thing; but here no
explanations were needed. "Doing any good?" asked a pallid young man
with a twitching face, like that of a galvanized corpse, as he met a
weary-eyed woman in mourning, whose bare hands glittered with rings.
"No," she answered peevishly. "You never saw such tables--all running to
intermittences. Nobody can do anything, except the old man who lives on
two-one." Then the pair began speaking of Miss Grant, for her name was
common property. She was one of the celebrities of the season.
Vanno went on, pausing at each table in the immense Empire room, whose
pale green walls glittered with Buonaparte's golden bees; and everywhere
he heard the same questions: "How are you doing? Tables treating you
well?" Or, "Have you seen Miss Grant? She's simply throwing away money
to-night. I'm afraid her luck's out."
There was something ominous and fatal in these words, repeated again and
again, with variations. "Poor Miss Grant! Her luck is out." All these
gamblers discussing her affairs, commenting, criticising, bewailing the
end of her long run of luck. The idea came to Vanno that it was like a
chanting chorus in a Greek tragedy; but he thrust the thought out of his
mind with violence. He could not bear to associate Mary with tragedy.
She was not made for a life and a place like this, where pain and
passion and heartburning lie in sharp contrast of shadow side by side
with sunshine and flowers. Vanno would have liked to spirit her away out
of this garden of painted lilies, to a sweet, old-fashioned garden where
pure white Madonna lilies lined the quiet paths. If only she had
listened to him last night, how different might have been her Christmas
day and his!
Presently he saw Dick Carleton, standing on the outer edge of a crowd
which had collected round one of the tables farthest from the entrance.
He was peering over people's heads, frowning, his hands deep in his
pockets. Then Vanno knew that he need look no farther for Mary.
He was taller than Dick, and almost pushing his way to a place, he saw
Mary seated at the opposite side of the table. She sat at the left of a
croupier, who was helping her to place her numerous stakes. Beside her
was Lady Dauntrey, and behind her chair, tall and pale and very haggard,
Lord Dauntrey stood. Vanno guessed, with a mingling of relief and
regret, that Mary must have gone to live at the Villa Bella Vista.
The ball spun round, rested in the pocket of number 11, and all Mary's
stakes were swept away.
"That's the eighth time in succession she's lost maximums round
twenty-four," mumbled a man close to Vanno's shoulder, in a young, weak
voice.
"She deserves it, for being an idiot," petulantly replied a woman, in
French, though the man had spoken in English. "I was her mascotte. I
showed her how to play and how to win; but I was not good enough for her
when she began making grand friends. Some women are so disloyal! She has
hurt me to the heart."
Vanno glanced down impatiently, and saw the woman who had been with Mary
on her first night at the Casino. He remembered the faded, white-rose
face, with its peevish crumples that were not yet lines, and the false
little smile that tried to draw attention away from them. He noticed
that she was no longer shabby, but wore a smart new dress and hat, with
a huge boa of ostrich feathers half covering her thin, bare neck. There
was a glint of jewels about her as she moved. The man with the young,
weak voice gazed at her admiringly, with a half-pitiful, half-comic air
of pride in being seen with so _chic_ a creature.
"Never you mind. We men ain't disloyal, anyhow," he consoled her. She
smiled at him pathetically, and his pale blue eyes, like those of a
faded Dresden china shepherd, returned her look with ecstasy.
"That wretched boy will marry the woman," was the thought that jumped
into Vanno's mind. He recognized the insignificant face, with its
receding chin and forehead, as that of a very young baronet, the last of
a degenerate family, weak of intellect, strong only in his craze for
jewels and horses. He had been in love with two or three English girls,
and one noted American beauty, but all, though comparatively poor, had
refused him, saying that one "must draw the line somewhere, and he was
the limit." Madeleine d'Ambre would not be fastidious. The brief
revelation, like something seen in the flare of a match that quickly
dies out, struck Vanno with pity and disgust. But a youth of this
calibre was sure sooner or later to drift to Monte Carlo; and perhaps
the Frenchwoman's leading strings would be better for him than none.
Again the wheel spun round, and Mary lost several piles of gold and
notes. It seemed to Vanno that she was changed not only in expression,
but even in features. The outline of her face looked sharper, thinner,
less girlish. Her eyes, very wide open, were bright, but not with their
own happy brightness, like a reflection of sunlight. They were more like
thick glass through which a fire can be seen dimly burning: and she
looked astonished, piteous, as a child looks when it has been seized and
whipped for a fault committed in ignorance. She seemed to be saying to
herself dazedly, "What has happened to me? Why should I be punished?"
High on each cheek burned a round spot of bright rose colour.
Sometimes Lady Dauntrey spoke to her, and Lord Dauntrey bent down and
appeared to advise. At first Mary shook her head, with a quivering
smile; but when the piles of money continued to be swept away, she lost
confidence in herself, and accepted their suggestions. Evidently she
tried to follow the new plan of action, whatever it was, but her luck
did not change for the better. Almost invariably her stakes, no matter
where placed, were taken from her. Even the croupiers looked surprised.
From time to time they darted at her glances of interest.
A great longing to be near, to protect her with love and sympathy,
rushed over Vanno. He forgot that she was angry with him, or that he had
given her cause for anger. He remembered only his love, and the
instinctive knowledge he had in spite of all, that her heart was for
him. He felt, unreasonably yet intensely, that if he were to sit at the
table where she could see him and receive the magnetic current of his
love, she would come to herself; that she would stop fighting this demon
of misfortune; that she would be filled with strength and comfort, and
would know what was best to do.
As if moved by the force of Vanno's will, a man got up from a chair
directly in front. It was Captain Hannaford, who looked less impassive
than usual. His somewhat secretive face was flushed, and he was
frowning. Without appearing to see the Prince, or Dick Carleton, who was
on the point of speaking, he walked quickly away from the table as if
anxious to escape. Almost savagely, Vanno grasped the back of the chair
and flung himself into it, though Madeleine d'Ambre had been on the
point of sitting down. A moment later Hannaford strolled back, having
changed his mind for some reason; but Vanno had already forgotten him.
He remembered only Mary, for she had glanced up for an instant, and
their eyes had met, his imploring, hers startled, then hastily averted.
Hannaford stood shoulder to shoulder with Carleton, who nodded and
spoke. "I wish we could get her to stop! I've tried--came over from the
Sporting Club on purpose, but she won't listen to me."
"We can't do anything with her at the table," said Hannaford.
"Norwood told me she was losing a lot, and I ran across from the
Sporting Club," Dick went on. "No good, I suppose, as you say. One can't
keep whispering a stream of good advice down the back of people's necks.
Only a very special kind of an ass tries that twice: but still, I did
hope----"
"Yes, there's that 'but still' feeling, isn't there?" Hannaford smiled
his tired smile, that never brightened. "I was going to cut it, because
she was getting on my nerves a bit. But I've come back to hang around,
as you're doing, and try the effect of will power, though I'm afraid it
won't work."
"It seems a vile table," Dick remarked.
"It's got a grudge against Miss Grant apparently, but it was all right
for me till I began to get nervy, watching her lose."
"You won?"
"Yes, and felt a beast--as if I were taking her money. Whenever I was on
one colour, she seemed always to choose a number on the other. I've got
enough money to buy my villa now, thanks to this night's work; so I
shall consider it a Christmas gift from the dear old Casino."
"Hurrah!" said Dick, his eyes always on the table and Mary's play. "I'm
glad some one's in luck, anyhow." He had heard from Rose Winter, and
from Hannaford himself, of the negotiations for Madame Rachel Berenger's
place just across the Italian frontier. Every one knew of her wild play
at the Casino and of her losses, which were now so great that she wished
to sell the old château which she had bought after her retirement from
the stage; and Hannaford's friends were aware that for some months he
had been quietly bargaining for it. His ambition was to buy the place
out of his winnings, but until to-night they had not reached the price
asked by the old actress. Twenty years ago she had paid two hundred
thousand francs for the huge house, almost in ruin. Later she had spent
nearly as much again in restoring it, and creating a garden which for a
while had been the marvel of the coast. Long ago, however, it had gone
back to wilderness. The splendid furniture imported by Madame Berenger
from the palace of an impoverished Bourbon princess had lost its gilding
and its rich brocade of silk and velvet. Two discouraged servants
remained with her, out of a staff of twelve. Once there had been ten
gardeners; now there was none; and the one hope left for this lost
palace of sleep was in a new ownership. The whole place smelt of decay
and desolation, yet to Hannaford it was more attractive than such a
beautiful and prosperous domain as Schuyler's Stellamare. The sad
loveliness of the old house and the old garden made a special appeal to
him. He wanted to save the Château Lontana from ruin, and felt
superstitiously that the interest he would find in such a task might
redeem him from the desolation which, like a high wall, rose between him
and life.
Something of this feeling Mrs. Winter had gathered from Hannaford,
though he had never put it in words, and Dick knew she would be glad of
to-night's news. It was no secret that Madame Berenger had refused to
accept less than three hundred thousand francs; therefore Dick sprang to
the conclusion that this must be the sum of Hannaford's winnings.
"I congratulate you heartily," he said. "My cousin will be delighted.
She likes you, and has been interested about the Château Lontana."
"She's been very kind and sympathetic. No wonder everybody loves her! I
know what she'll want to say now, even if she doesn't say it. 'Pay for
your château, and play no more.' Well, if you see her sooner than I do,
please tell Mrs. Winter I'm going to take her advice before I get it--to
a certain extent. Not a louis do I risk till the place is mine.
Then--perhaps I'll follow my luck, and try to make the Casino help me
restore the house and garden. Not that I want to do much, only enough to
make the place habitable, and give the flowers a chance to breathe."
"Then you mean to live there?"
"For a while at all events. Perhaps not long. Who knows what one may do?
But I shall have the pleasure of knowing it's mine."
Dick, though interested, had fallen into absent-mindedness. Two or three
persons having slipped away, he was able to get nearer the table, and to
see more clearly what Mary was doing. It almost seemed that if he and
Hannaford concentrated their whole minds upon willing her to stop play
for the night, she must feel the influence. Her luck was out, certainly.
She had lost a great deal, but she had a goodly store of winnings to
fall back upon.
"Let's will her hard, to leave off," he suggested, half ashamed of the
proposal, yet secretly in earnest.