A PROMISE
Selden left the hotel and made his way down to the terrace. He felt
that he had need to collect his thoughts, to arrange his ideas. He
walked up and down for a minute or two until the blood stopped pounding
in his temples, then sat down on a bench and started to reason it out.
So the countess was in a plot against Jeneski--well, that was nothing
new; she had been on Lappo’s side avowedly from the first. And that
one of Jeneski’s ministers should have been corrupted was easy enough
to understand. But the bearing of the countess as she read that
telegram--her emotion, her fierceness, her passion--had torn a veil
from Selden’s eyes. She was not in this because of friendship for
Lappo, nor because she loved her country--she herself had said it, “For
a woman, that is not enough!”--but for some personal reason, deep,
compelling, malignant. She hated Jeneski.
But where did Halsey come in? What did he mean when he said, “I agree”?
Agree to what? Something he had held out against--something the
countess had driven him to. Perhaps it was only to what Selden himself
had suggested--to forego the chance for a sensation. His air had been
tragic--but that would be a tragedy for Halsey--like cutting off his
right hand.
And his reward? Selden shrugged his shoulders. It was nothing to him
what reward the countess might choose to bestow. He cared not at all
how many men entered her rooms, nor how long they remained.
Poor old Halsey! He was surely running his head into a noose! She was
sure of him now--she had left her door open, knowing that he would
follow! She had even made him swear! Heavens, what a fool!
And then a sudden thought stung Selden to his feet. Was Halsey the only
fool?
What precipice was it toward which he himself was walking, lured by the
vision of a face which grew more vivid with every hour, more dear--a
face with calm questioning eyes....
He would have to have it out with himself, the whole question of his
relations with this woman--this Madame Ghita--this ballet dancer--this
mistress of a prince; what he hoped, what he feared; have it out
without evasion or self-deceit. And his face was grim, for he foresaw
that he would not emerge with flying colours.
Hope? Pah!
The placid gardien sauntering by was startled to see a man standing by
the balustrade suddenly slash viciously at the air with his cane, as
though laying it savagely across somebody’s back, and he slackened his
pace to observe this madman, who had probably lost all his money, and
to intervene if need be. Perhaps he designed to cast himself on the
railroad tracks below. That must be prevented, because it would cause a
scandal, and scandals are frowned upon most heavily at Monte Carlo.
But there was no need of intervention, for the unknown, after a couple
of rapid turns up and down the terrace, ran up the steps, and the
gardien, following cautiously, saw him turn into the postoffice, and
went back to his beat with a shrug of the shoulders. It was not a
madman, then; it was only a fool who, instead of killing himself, was
telegraphing for more money!
That moment’s ebullition had relieved Selden; besides, there was
nothing to be gained by beating the air. His immediate job was to get
off his special to the _Times_, and during those quick turns up and
down the terrace it had taken shape in his mind. First, of course, a
paragraph about the sensation which the exclusive announcement in the
_Times_ had caused; the crowd at the gates of the Villa Gloria; the
call made by the Hon. Percy Buckton and its apparently satisfactory
result, Mr. Buckton being the British consul at Nice, and acting
under instructions from Lord Curzon, as to the character of which,
however, he would say nothing; the reception of the correspondents,
picturesque old king and scarcely less picturesque grandson, creating
most favourable impression; Baron Lappo in Paris arranging the
marriage settlement; wedding to be very soon; frantic efforts of the
correspondents to see Miss Davis, who had denied herself to everybody,
except a personal friend or two; it had, however, been the good fortune
of the _Times_ correspondent to meet her; here follow with short and
complimentary description. And then a discreet paragraph or two about
the morganatic marriage, quoting the king and treating it as a thing of
the past.
But was it?
That was the crucial question. It was upon that point, in Seldon’s mind
at least, that the ethics of the whole affair hinged. And it was there,
he felt, that he must seek some assurance better than the king’s. There
was only one place to get it; there was only one person who really
knew. For the matter lay wholly in the hands of Madame Ghita. It was
she who would decide. It was from her that assurance must be sought.
* * * * *
Half an hour later, at the booth in the postoffice, he had completed
his special and was about to sign his name, when a sudden thought
struck him. Well, why not? And he added this final paragraph:
There is much speculation as to what line Jeneski will take with
respect to this affair. No one who knows him believes for a moment
that he will sit quietly by and permit the republic for which he has
struggled and which he believes in so thoroughly to be overthrown
without a contest. He has to face no little opposition at home,
even among his own ministers, but he has shown himself before this
to be capable of rapid and decisive actions in a crisis. There is
a persistent rumour here that he left his capital this morning by
airplane for Nice. There is no confirmation of this rumour, and no
one can imagine what he hopes to accomplish here, if he is really on
his way, his arrival will give a new twist to a situation already
absorbing the attention of many chancelleries.
He signed his name, pushed the sheet through the window, waited to be
assured that the message had been started, and left the building.
Just across the way the great globes at the entrance to the Sporting
Club cast their light along the street, and Selden, without an
instant’s hesitation, turned toward them. He was certain that the trio
he had seen dining at Ciro’s would reach there sooner or later, and
he had made up his mind what to do. He was going to demand an answer
to the question which was worrying him. He was going to find out
definitely what Madame Ghita intended to do.
It was a little early yet for the club, but the rooms were already
filled and all the tables were in operation. Selden strolled from one
to another looking for his quarry, and he soon discovered Davis and
Miss Fayard seated side by side and absorbed in play. Davis was placing
thousand-franc notes on adjacent transversales, which gave him a chance
on nine numbers out of the thirty-seven, with a double chance on three
of them, and seemed on the whole to be winning. His companion was
betting more moderately with plaques, or hundred-franc chips, on the
carrés, four at a time, which gave her also a chance on nine numbers;
but she was less fortunate and her last plaque was finally swept away.
Davis pushed some notes over to her and told her to go on, and then he
looked up and saw Selden watching from across the table.
“Hello!” he said. “Come over here a minute. I want to see you before
you go,” he went on, when Selden had worked his way to his side. “I’ve
carried out my part of the bargain.”
“Have you?”
“Yes; and now I want you to carry out yours.”
“We’ll talk it over,” Selden agreed. “Where is Madame Ghita?”
“In the buffet, I think. A newspaper fellow got hold of her a while
ago. You’d better look them up. I’ll join you as soon as I’ve busted
the bank.”
“I don’t think I can wait that long!” Selden protested, laughingly
returning Miss Fayard’s greeting, and turned away to the buffet with
considerable misgiving.
The instant he passed the door he saw Madame Ghita, and, seated on the
banquette beside her, talking away earnestly, was Paul Scott. Selden
was conscious of a decided feeling of relief. Old Scott wouldn’t do any
harm. For some reason he had feared that it was Halsey!
He approached them with a smile. Scott was too absorbed in his talk
to notice him, but Madame Ghita had seen him at once, and his heart
quickened a little as her smile answered his.
“Good evening, M. Selden,” she said; “this is very nice. You will sit
down, of course?” and she made room for him on the banquette. “You know
Monsieur ... Monsieur....”
“Scott is the villain’s name,” said Selden, as he sat down. “Yes, I
know him--too well, indeed!”
Scott, his discourse brought abruptly to a halt, stared at him in
indignation.
“See here, Selden,” he said, “don’t you know that when a gentleman is
talking to a lady, third persons aren’t wanted? It is plain that you
are not a man of the world! Run along now!”
“I like it very well here,” said Selden, settling back in his seat.
“Then my seconds will wait on you in the morning,” said Scott fiercely.
“All right--coffee and pistols, eh? Only I’ll take my coffee now,” and
he told a waiter to bring him some.
“Is it that you are rivals?” asked Madame Ghita, who had listened to
this interchange in evident alarm.
“Deadly rivals!” said Selden. “More than ever at this moment. I welcome
the prospect of ridding myself of him forever! I must say you haven’t
lost any time,” he added to Scott. “Who introduced you?”
“I used your name,” explained Scott, with a broad grin. “It worked like
a charm.”
“My name?”
“It is true,” said Madame Ghita, her eyes sparkling, for she was
beginning to understand. “In the rooms out yonder, ten minutes since,
monsieur introduced himself to me as a friend of yours.”
“The infernal impostor!”
“But it is his fault,” Scott protested, waving his hands. “Figure to
yourself, madame, this afternoon he spoke of you in terms so glowing,
so complimentary, that I would have been less than a man if my interest
had remained unawakened. I made up my mind to meet you. He even
approved.”
“I consented,” Selden corrected; “I saw I might as well. Now that you
have met her, you’d better beat it.”
“Beat it?” repeated madame. “What does that mean?”
“I am inviting him to make his adieux,” Selden explained.
“I place myself in the hands of madame,” said Scott with a bow. “It
shall be for her to choose between us.”
“Ah, but that is too difficult,” she protested. “Yet you must stay a
little while, if only to tell me what M. Selden said of me.”
“He said you were an extraordinary and fascinating woman, madame,” said
Scott, while Selden turned a little crimson; “an opinion in which I
fully concur. So when I saw him to-night at Ciro’s with a lady also of
unusual charm, I could only infer that it was you. I did not know that
he had turned Turk as well as Royalist. When, upon inquiry, I found
that it was not you, I confess that I was shocked.”
“Yes, it is true,” agreed madame; “I fear that he is very, very
inconstant!”
“So I warn you against him, madame,” added Scott, rising. “Be on your
guard--I even hesitate to leave you alone with him!”
“You are going? But it is not I who am sending you away!”
“No--it is duty compelling me. I have to get off my story of to-day’s
events.”
“Good-bye then,” said Madame Ghita, and held out her hand, which Scott
raised to his lips most respectfully.
Then he paused for an instant to look quizzically into Selden’s eyes.
“You old reprobate!” he snorted. “I see through your game! But it’s
all right!” he added. “Will you have lunch with me to-morrow? At
Amirauté’s? One o’clock? Good! Till to-morrow, then!”
The two watched him until he passed from sight. Then Madame Ghita
turned to Selden with a smile.
“A most amusing man,” she said, “and a very great friend of yours.”
“Yes, old Scott is all right; as square as they make them. We have been
in some close places together. What was he talking about?”
“He was speaking of you.”
“Of me?”
“Of the work you have done and the ideals you have fought for--I was
very glad to listen; and how surprised he was to find you on the king’s
side now; at least not bitterly fighting him--willing to give him this
opportunity; and how he was beginning to understand and to take the
same view, but that it depended upon me, perhaps, that you should never
regret it. And then you came before he had time to explain.”
“I will explain, madame,” he said, his heart very tender toward old
Scott, who knew him so well.
“Then it does depend upon me?”
“Yes, madame; absolutely. When I came into this club to-night,” he went
on, “it was with the hope of seeing you, for I must talk to you--quite
frankly.”
“Please do,” she said, her eyes shining. “I should love to have you
speak to me frankly. And I--I also will be frank. I promise it.”
“My regret, if I ever have any,” he went on, “will not be for the king
nor for his country. The king takes his chance. As for the country, it
will be a great help to have this fortune spent there. Afterwards, the
people can choose another ruler if they wish.”
“My own thought,” she nodded.
“My regret will be for the American girl who is involved in all this.
She is contracting to place her fortune and perhaps her happiness in
the hands of Prince Danilo. But he, too, is contracting something.”
“Yes, a marriage; a very serious thing, you would say?”
“It is serious to an American girl, at least, madame. She knows, of
course, of the prince’s alliance with you. To that she can have no
possible reason to object--on the contrary; it has been an honourable
and recognized arrangement. But when she marries him, she naturally
expects that alliance to cease.”
“Ah, well,” said madame, pensively, “the prince is casting me off, is
he not?”
“Yes; but are you casting him off? You have already told me that it is
in your hands. You can keep him, if you choose--no doubt of that! You
are the most fascinating woman, madame, that I have ever known, and you
are very clever. You can do with a man what you will.”
“Even with you?” she asked, and looked into his eyes. “Ah, no--do
not lie. You are an American--there is something in you, very deep
down, which holds you back from the supreme follies we Latins commit
so easily, and which even the English sometimes achieve. I have seen
it--how often! You think it a merit; and because of it, at the bottom
of your minds, you believe yourselves superior to us of Europe. Is it
not so?”
“Perhaps.”
“But is it a merit? Is it not rather a cowardice?”
“I do not know, madame,” said Selden, humbly. “I suppose we have not
the same urge.”
“That is it--you have not the same urge. But is that a thing to be
proud of--to be more vegetable than we are?”
“But if we are happier so?”
“Happy? Can one be happy without great moments? Yes--as a cow is
happy--as a sheep is happy. But for me, that is not happiness--that is
ennui! I demand more than that! For me, happiness is to risk everything
on one turn of the wheel!”
“Well--you are risking it now,” Selden pointed out.
“Oh, no, I am not!” she retorted quickly, and leaned back a little
wearily. “I am perhaps willing to risk it, but the stake is too
high--the bank refuses to take my bet. Is it that the bank has other
bets?” and she looked at him sharply.
“I am just an obtuse American, madame,” answered Selden steadily,
though his pulses were pounding madly, “and not at all good at guessing
riddles.”
She looked at him a moment longer; then her eyes softened and a little
smile played about her lips.
“You are really very clever, M. Selden,” she said; “very, very clever.
I knew it the first time I saw you--I looked at you well to make sure.
And I have a great admiration for clever men--I have met, alas, so
few! But you were speaking of the prince. Do you wish that I send him
away?”
“I think it would be best.”
“I am not asking what would be best, but whether you wish it.”
“Yes, I do,” said Selden brusquely.
He had had no intention of speaking those words, of making that
admission, of permitting it to become in the slightest degree a
personal matter, but some force stronger than himself drove them to his
lips. And he was strangely glad that they were uttered.
She was looking at him with luminous eyes, her parted lips trembling a
little....
“Very well,” she said, softly. “I agree,” and she touched his hand
lightly with her fingers. “That is finished.”