She smiled when I referred to this, and, pulling up her short sleeve--it
reached barely to her elbow--displayed several horizontal streaks of a
deep purple which looked like bruises.
"I was that woman," exclaimed Judith quietly. "The man was Dago, and
these are the marks his fingers left upon me when he gripped me and
fought with me. Are you surprised I have to-night so readily betrayed
his hiding-place?"
"Not so very readily," I said, thinking of the sum of which she had
mulcted me before she would speak at all.
Guessing my thoughts, she laughed.
"Still, m'sieur," she said, "you will admit that you have received full
value for your money, _n'est-ce-pas_?"
During this conversation, carried on in one of the ante-rooms within
earshot of the music in the ballroom, Vera sat almost in silence. I
grew to understand the woman Judith better, indeed almost to like her.
She said little about herself, though I questioned her frequently
concerning her own life. She seemed more inclined to talk of other
people, and their doings. One thing I did gather was that she belonged
to a gang of male and female adventurers, who probably stood at nothing
when they had an end to gain. To this gang belonged also the Baronne,
Paulton and Henderson. Whether Sir Charles Thorold was, or was not, in
some way mixed up in this gang's schemes I could not ascertain for
certain, though several times I tried to. For about Sir Charles and
Lady Thorold, Judith seemed unwilling to speak.
I had a long and confidential chat with Vera. Ah! that hour was perhaps
full of the sweetest happiness of my life. She was mine--mine! It was
past three in the morning when we paused for a few moments in our
animated conversation. "Ah, here comes your friend," exclaimed my sweet
beloved.
Faulkner, passing the open door, had caught sight of us and strolled in.
Violet de Coudron was with him. She looked dreadfully tired, I
thought, though this did not greatly detract from her very exceptional
beauty.
Briefly, I told Faulkner all that had happened.
"It is fortunate we are not conventional," he said lightly, when I had
outlined my plan. "What food for scandal some people would find in all
this. I think, after all, that our visit here to-night has not been
wholly unprofitable--eh? You may be surprised to hear that this new
friend of mine"--and he indicated Violet de Coudron, seated beside
him--"has arranged to leave the Baronne for good and all. She tells me
she leads an awful life here, and that when Vera is gone--"
"But you have known Vera only a few weeks," I interrupted, addressing
Violet.
"Yes," she answered sadly, with her pretty accent, "and those are the
only weeks of comparative happiness I have had. I couldn't stay here
with these people without her. I couldn't. I really couldn't. Oh, if
you only knew all I have been through--all I have been forced to endure
since the Baronne adopted me!" And she hid her face in her hands.
"Adopted you!" I exclaimed. "You said you were the Baronne's niece."
"I said so--yes. I always said so, because she made me, and I passed
always as her niece. But I am not. I can scarcely remember my parents.
All I can recollect is that they were very poor--but oh, so kind to me!
I remember their kissing me passionately one day, with tears streaming
down their cheeks--it was evening, and nearly dark--and telling me that
they had to go away from me, that probably we should never meet again in
this world."
"How old were you then?" I asked, much interested.
"I could not have been more than six, possibly seven. It was in Rouen.
They took me to a big, fashionable street I did not remember having ever
been in before, kissed me again and again once more, stood me by the
_porte-cochere_, and rang the bell. Then they went hurriedly away. By
the time the bell was answered, they had disappeared. I was questioned
by a tall man-servant--after that, I don't exactly recollect what
happened, except that the Baronne adopted me. She lived in the big
house."
"And it was in Rouen, you say?"
"Yes, in Rouen."
"Do you think you would recognise it if you saw the outside of it
again?" I asked quickly.
She paused.
"I think I should," she said thoughtfully, "though we did not stay there
long--not more than a few months. Why do you ask?"
"Only," I answered, "because I have an idea. But now let us leave this
place. It is nearly four o'clock."
Yes, we were a truly unconventional quartette.
The hotel people were surprised, on the following morning, to find one
of our two rooms occupied by two fair visitors, while in the other
Faulkner and I slept, tucked up together. But in gay, reckless Monte
nobody is surprised at anything.
That an attempt would at once be made to discover Violet's whereabouts
and get her back, we knew. For that reason we had arranged to leave for
Paris by the mid-day _rapide_.