One thought alone possessed Liane. Zertho loved her.
Next morning when the maid brought her coffee, she rose, and opening the
sun-shutters, stood at the window gazing upon the broad expanse of
bright blue sea. The words the Prince had uttered all came back to her.
She recollected how he had pressed her hand, and declared that she was
his ideal of what a woman should be; how, not satisfied with her
refusal, he had promised to repeat his question. Should she accept?
No, she distrusted him as much as she had ever done.
While thus plunged in deep reflection, her clear eyes fixed upon the
distant horizon where ships were passing, endeavouring to convince
herself that marriage with Zertho was impossible because she could never
love him, a light tap was heard upon the door, and the girl re-entered,
bearing a letter.
By its blue English stamp, she knew instinctively it was from George.
Slowly she tore open the envelope and read its contents. Then, with a
sudden movement, she cast herself upon her bed, burying her face in the
lace-edged pillow, and bursting into a torrent of passionate tears. She
hated Zertho, and still loved George.
Meanwhile, her father had risen, and gone out for an early turn along
the Promenade. He let himself out at the rear into the Rue de France,
in order not to pass the Villa Chevrier, and after strolling for some
time about the town, he reached the sea again walking alone, his face
set towards the high castle hill, which he presently ascended by the
winding flight of stone steps, and standing at last on the summit, in
the beautiful garden laid out on the side of the long-ruined chateau,
paused to rest. The sun was strong, the sky cloudless, and in every
direction the view was superb. As he stood leaning over the stone
parapet, the Cape of Antibes, the Iles de Lerins, the mouth of the broad
stony Var, and the town of Nice were at his feet, while behind stretched
the green valley of the Paillon, with the white monasteries of Cimiez
and St Pons, the distant chateau of St Andre, the peaks of Mont Chauve,
and the Aspremont, with the blue distant Alps forming a picturesque
background. He removed his hat, and allowed the fresh breeze that came
up from the sea to fan his heated temples.
He was alone, save for a solitary sentinel standing with fixed bayonet
some distance away, at the entrance to a large platform, where several
guns were mounted behind baskets filled with stones, and as he leaned,
his eyes fixed blankly upon the sea, some low words escaped him.
"Yes," he murmured in desperation, "this is indeed the last drop that
has filled my cup of affliction. Poor Liane! How can I tell her? How
can I go to her and confess the ghastly truth? If I do; if I tell her
of the terrible secret which I had believed was mine alone, she--the
child whom I have loved and cherished all these years, will turn from me
with loathing."
His hands were clenched, his brow furrowed, and upon his usually merry
countenance was a settled look of unutterable despair.
"No, it is impossible--absolutely impossible," he went on, sighing
deeply, after a few moments. "To tell her the truth would only be to
increase her unhappiness and cause her to hate me, therefore I cannot--I
dare not! No; Zertho is inexorable. I must sacrifice Liane in order to
save myself."
Again he was silent, pondering deeply, and striving to form some plan by
which to save his daughter from being forced into this undesirable
union. But he could conceive none. Even if he defied this man who was
endeavouring to secure Liane, and boldly met the terrible consequences
of the exposure of his secret, he saw that such a course must reflect
upon her, for she would then be alone in the world--friendless, forsaken
and penniless; while if he fled, he must be found sooner or later, for
within twenty-four hours the police of Europe would be actively
searching for him. Then, calmly and without fear, he thought of
suicide, his one desire being to save Liane from disgrace. Leaning over
the parapet, he gazed far down upon the brown, rocky crags, beaten time
after time by the great rolling waves as they broke and threw up columns
of white spray. He was contemplating how best to end his life. He
could leave her a letter confessing all the truth, and thus save her
from becoming the wife of this titled adventurer. Yet again a
difficulty presented itself. To act thus would be cowardly; besides
which Liane would also be left without money, and without a protector.
For a long time he carefully reviewed all the facts, at length arriving
at the same conclusion as before, that his suicide would only bring
increased disaster upon the child he idolised.
"No," he exclaimed aloud, between his set teeth. "There is but one
way--one way alone. She must become Princess. I must obey Zertho, and
compel her to marry him. All these long weeks have I striven against
it, knowing that once united to such an unprincipled brute, her days
must be full of wretchedness and despair. Nay, I am prepared to
sacrifice everything for her sake; nevertheless, if I boldly face my
enemies, or take my life to escape them, the result would be the same.
Liane would be left friendless. To me through all these dark days she
has been the one joy of my aimless, weary life; hers has been the one
bright face that has cheered me times without number when I should have
otherwise knocked under. I have striven my best to keep her
uncontaminated by the reckless world in which I've been compelled to
move, and none can ever charge me with neglect of her. Yet this is the
end. She must be torn from me, and be given to this unscrupulous
blackmailer whom the possession of wealth has converted from my friend
into my enemy."
Erle Brooker, by profession an adventurer, but at heart generous and
tender as a woman, had come to Nice solely on Liane's account, because
he had been convinced by Zertho's argument that she was moping sadly at
Stratfield Mortimer. Although he had accepted the invitation he had
never for one moment intended that Liane should become Princess d'Auzac
until his whilom partner had pronounced it imperative. Then, hour by
hour, day by day, he had sought means whereby Zertho might be dissuaded
from pressing his claim, until now he was compelled to acknowledge his
hope an utterly forlorn one.
"Alas!" he sighed, leaning his fevered weary head on both his hands.
"All happiness and gaiety must be crushed from her heart; her young life
must be wrecked because of my sin. I, her father, must persuade, nay
insist upon her taking a step that she must regret her whole life
through, and use towards that end arguments which I would rather my
tongue were torn out than I should utter. Ah, Liane," he cried,
brokenly, in a voice of despair, "if you could but realise all that I
have suffered these past weeks. But you must not; you, at least, shall
never know the cause of this deadly fear which holds me paralysed
beneath the relentless thrall of the one man who knows the truth. No,
you must marry him, and thereby secure his silence. Your consent to
become Princess d'Auzac can alone save me."
Again he was silent, deep in contemplation of the terrible truth, when
suddenly behind him sounded a peal of merry laughter, and turning
quickly, he saw he had been joined upon the platform by Liane and two
bright English girls who were living at the same pension with them.
They had ascended the long flights of steps, and were entirely out of
breath.
"Why, dear old dad!" cried Liane, in surprise, "whoever would have
thought of finding you up here at this hour?"
The Captain laughed uneasily, and made some evasive reply regarding the
clearness of the morning and the extent of the view.
"Oh, isn't it magnificent!" cried the other girls in chorus, as they
gazed around. Liane, who had been there on many previous occasions, had
brought them up, promising them a fine panorama, and they certainly were
not disappointed.
Together they wandered about the pretty gardens, watched the artillery
at drill working the guns, peered down the old castle well and clambered
about the ancient walls which had been torn down nearly two hundred
years ago by the Duke of Brunswick; then, after one of the girls had
narrowly escaped losing her hat in the high wind, they descended again
to the Rue des Ponchettes, where the Captain, excusing himself that he
wanted to make a purchase in the town, left them.
The three girls, chatting and laughing, walked round the base of the
hill, by the road called the Rauba Capeu, to the port, where the Prince
d'Auzac's trim steam yacht was lying, afterwards retracing their steps
along the Boulevard du Midi. They had passed the Jardin Public, where
the band was playing Strauss's _Fesche Geister_, and had just entered
the Promenade des Anglais, when Zertho on his fine bay rode past them
raising his hat. The trio smiled and bowed, and while he galloped
along, his smart groom at some little distance behind, one of Liane's
companions remarked--
"Isn't the Prince a handsome fellow? I wonder he does not marry."
Liane felt her cheeks colouring.
"Oh! I suppose he will very soon," observed her sister. They were both
tall, dark, good-looking girls, daughters of a wealthy widow from
London. This was their first season on the Riviera, and all was fresh
to them.
"You know the Prince well, don't you?" inquired the first girl who had
spoken, turning to Liane.
"Yes," she answered. "We knew him long before he became rich."
"And his wealth has spoilt him, I expect? It does most men."
"No, I can scarcely say that," answered Liane. "At heart he is so
thoroughly cosmopolitan and so merry that I don't think he will ever
become purse-proud."
"I've heard he's a millionaire," observed the other girl. "Is that
true?"
"I believe so. His father was the wealthiest man in Luxembourg; richer
even than the reigning Grand Duke Adolphe."
"And whoever marries him will be Princess d'Auzac," the girl remarked,
contemplatively. "Rather jolly, I should imagine, to be a Princess with
an ancient title like that One could then cut a decent figure in
society, I envy the fortunate girl who takes his fancy."
Liane winced. She feared that her cheeks told their own tale, and was
thankful when a moment later the girls met their mother amid the crowd
of promenaders, and all four commenced to chat upon a different subject.
That evening they did not dine as usual at the Villa Chevrier, but took
their meal at the Pension, and afterwards, when Liane was reclining
lazily on the couch in their private salon, her handsome head thrown
back upon a great cushion of yellow silk, and the Captain was seated in
a capacious easy chair, with a cigarette and an English paper, he at
last braced himself up for an effort that was to him exceedingly
repugnant. He feared that his words must choke him, and for
half-an-hour glanced surreptitiously at her, hesitating to approach the
subject. The recollection of all that he had to stake, however, goaded
him on, and presently, slowly putting down his paper, and striving to
remain firm, he uttered her name.
She looked up from her French novel in surprise. The tone in which he
spoke was entirely unusual. It was harsh and strained.
"Liane," he said, bending and looking straight into her large, clear
eyes, "I have wanted to speak seriously to you during these past few
weeks, but have always hesitated."
"Why, father?"
"Because--well, I knew you were happy, and did not wish to cause you
pain," he answered.
"Pain? What do you mean?" she inquired quickly.
"You have been very happy here in Nice, haven't you? I mean that Zertho
has made life very pleasant for us both," he stammered.
"Certainly. Thanks to him, we've been extremely gay the whole time. So
different to our last experience of the Riviera," and she laughed
lightly at the recollection of those well-remembered evil days.
"You appear to find Zertho a very congenial companion," he observed.
She started. Surely her father could not know what had taken place
between them during that walk by the moonlit sea on the previous night?
"Of course," she answered hesitatingly. "He was always a good friend to
poor Nelly and myself, and he is very amusing."
"But I have noticed of late that your face betrays your happiness when
you walk with him. A woman always shows in her cheeks a distinct
consciousness of her success."