It is a week later. Lady Etwynde and her husband have left Paris and
gone back to the æsthetic mansion in Kensington. They have decided
on living there still. To Lady Etwynde it is endeared by many
memories and associations, and her husband is content with whatever
pleases her. Lady Jean is still in the gay city, and so is Keith
Athelstone.
"How the affair drags!" murmurs the Lady Jean to herself one evening
as she is making her toilette. "Karolyski is persevering, I can see;
but Keith--he is quite too stupid. I must try and hasten the
_dénouement_. Besides, Frank comes back in a few days, and I don't
want _him_ to suspect. Could I bring matters to an issue to-night, I
wonder?"
She looks at herself in the glass, and a flush of triumph rises to
her cheek. She looks supremely handsome in a dress of black satin,
with judicious touches of white lace and white flowers; and as she
sweeps into her rooms and sees Keith's involuntary glance of
admiration, she feels a little thrill of triumph.
As the evening goes on, as her guests assemble, she contrives that
Keith Athelstone should be always by her side, and though the
scowling face of Count Karolyski is frequently turned towards her,
she is by no means intimidated. He and Keith are mutually
antagonistic to each other, and to-night the Count's manner is almost
insulting.
Again, the question of play is mooted, and again he taunts Keith with
his care of his dollars. The evening is very warm, and the young
fellow has drunk more wine than he usually does, and Lady Jean has
taken care that it is wine both strong and exciting.
At the Count's veiled sneers he loses his temper--never a very
forbearing one--and, forgetful of promises and resolutions, sits down
at the table.
The stakes grow higher; he is winning fast. Again and again he is
victor and again and again does the money of the Count flow into his
keeping. Lady Jean comes near him and leans against his chair. Her
perfumed hair almost sweeps his cheek. As he glances up he meets all
the dark intensity and lustre of her eyes.
"You are wonderfully fortunate in--everything," she says, smiling;
and the Count glances up and crushes back an oath between his set
teeth. Then quite suddenly, and with the most serene innocence, Lady
Jean stoops and picks up a card by Keith's side. "You have dropped
this," she says, and lays it on the table.
"The ace of spades--you have already played that, monsieur!" says
Count Karolyski.
"It cannot be mine, then," says Keith quietly.
The Count throws his cards contemptuously on the table.
"Monsieur's luck may be wonderful, but with double aces in his hand
it is not so remarkable after all!"
Keith starts up--his hot young blood aflame: "What do you mean--do
you dare insinuate----"
The Count's laugh falls across the horrified silence of the guests as
they draw near.
"Insinuate? No, monsieur--it is for you to explain, I think."
"I have nothing to explain," says Keith proudly. "There is no proof
that that card belonged to me. If you doubt my word, my honour, I am
perfectly willing to answer for both."
"Hush! hush! what are you saying," cries Lady Jean, horrified. "Of
course it is a mistake. Mr. Athelstone, pray be calm."
Calm! The hot blood is rushing through Keith's veins--his eyes have
their worst and most passionate light. "Your friend has thought fit
to insult me, madame," he says. "I demand an apology
or--satisfaction."
"_Pardieu_, monsieur!" laughs the Count, in his most insulting
manner. "I am sorry I cannot answer your first demand; as to the
other--I am at your service."
There is an instant's silence. Women with blanched faces, men with
surprise and embarrassment, look on these two who face each other--on
the tall, slight figure with its dauntless grace of bearing, on the
blue eyes flaming with anger and defiance; and then on the cruel,
smiling lips, and calm, dark face of the Hungarian.
Count Karolyski turns, says a few words to a man near by, and then,
with a bow, leaves the room.
Keith turns to Lady Jean. "I regret that such a scene should have
happened in your house," he says, calming his voice by a violent
effort. "You will excuse my withdrawing now, madam?" She has grown
very pale. As he quits the salon she follows him.
"Mr. Athelstone, do not proceed to extremities. The Count is a
deadly shot. He has fought more duels than I could tell you--and
you----"
"Do you fancy I am afraid?" interrupts Keith, turning his flashing
eyes upon her face. "Or that I value my life so much, I would try to
save it even for less cause? No; let him do his worst. An insult
like that----"
"It was shameful, I know," says Lady Jean. "But still, you might
leave Paris--you might----"
"For what do you take me?" interrupts Keith passionately. "Do you
think I am a coward?"
"No; oh, no," she murmurs. "Only you are so young, and life is all
before you. Why should you forfeit love, happiness, all that may be
in store, just for a fancied insult that has questioned your honour?"
Keith looks at her searchingly. The old vague distrust of this woman
is at work within his heart. He answers her very coldly.
"It _is_ my honour I avenge. I do not fancy even you, as a woman,
could counsel the acceptance of such an insult as your friend has
thought fit to put upon me." And with a bow he leaves her presence.