As the young man came into the dining-room he glanced over to where Mrs.
Bailey was sitting and then he looked away, and, unfolding his table
napkin, paid no more attention to the only other occupant of the room.
Now this was a very trifling fact, and yet it surprised our young
Englishwoman; she had become accustomed to the way in which Frenchmen, or
perhaps it would be more true to say Parisians, stare at a pretty woman
in the streets, in omnibuses, and in shops. As for the dining-room of the
Hôtel de l'Horloge, it always seemed full of eyes when she and Anna
Wolsky were having lunch or dinner there.
Now, for the first time, she found herself close to a Frenchman without
feeling either uncomfortably or amusingly aware of a steady, unwinking
stare. It was quite an odd sensation to find herself thus neglected!
Without actually looking round, Sylvia, out of the corner of her blue
eye, could see this exceptional Frenchman. He was dressed in white
flannels, and he wore rather bright pink socks and a pink tie to match.
He must be, she decided, something of a dandy. Though still a young man,
he was rather bald, and he had a thick fair moustache. He looked bored
and very grave; she could not help wondering why he was staying at
Lacville.
M. Polperro suddenly appeared at the door. "Would M. le Comte prefer
scrambled eggs or an omelette?" he asked obsequiously, and "M. le Comte"
lifted his head and answered shortly, but with a smile, "Scrambled eggs,
my good Polperro."
Doubtless this was the gentleman who was brother-in-law of the French
Duke mentioned by M. Girard. He spoke to the chef with the kindly
familiarity born of long knowledge.
After having given the Count his scrambled eggs, the young waitress came
over to where Sylvia was sitting. "Would Madame like to have her coffee
in the garden?" she asked; and Sylvia said that she would.
How enchanting was the garden of the Villa du Lac, and how unlike any
hotel garden she had ever seen! The smooth, wide lawn was shaded with
noble cedars and bright green chestnut trees; it was paradise compared
with the rather stuffy little Hôtel de l'Horloge and the dusty Paris
streets.
M. Polperro himself brought Sylvia's coffee. Then he stayed on talking to
her, for like all clever hotel-keepers the Southerner had the gift of
making those who were staying in his house feel as if they were indeed
his guests rather than his clients.
"If Madame should ever care to make a little stay at Lacville, how happy
Madame Polperro and I would be!" he exclaimed. "I have a beautiful room
overlooking the lake which I could give Madame. It was reserved for a
Russian Princess, but now she is not coming--"
"Perhaps I will come and stay here some day," said Sylvia, and she really
felt as if she would like to come and stay in the Villa du Lac. "But I am
going to Switzerland next week, so it will have to be the next time I
come to France in the summer."
"Does Madame play?" asked M. Polperro, insinuatingly.
"I?" said Sylvia, laughing. "No, indeed! Of course, I play bridge--all
English people play bridge--but I have never gambled, if you mean that,
monsieur, in my life."
"I am delighted to hear Madame say so," said M. Polperro, heartily.
"People now talk of Lacville as if there was only the Casino and the
play. They forget the beautiful walks, the lovely lake, and the many
other attractions we have to offer! Why, Madame, think of the Forest of
Montmorency? In old days it was quite a drive from Lacville, but now a
taxi or an automobile will get you there in a few minutes! Still the
Casino is very attractive too; and all _my_ clients belong to the Club!"
Sylvia stayed on for nearly an hour in the delightful, peaceful garden,
and then, rather regretfully, she went up the lichen-covered steps which
led into the hall. How deliciously cool and quiet it was there.
She paid her bill; it seemed very moderate considering how good her lunch
had been, and then slowly made her way out of the Villa du Lac, down
across the stone-flagged courtyard to the gate, and so into the sanded
road.
Crossing over, she began walking by the edge of the lake; and once more
loneliness fell upon her. The happy-looking people who passed her
laughing and talking together, and the more silent couples who floated by
on the water in the quaint miniature sailing boats with which the surface
of the lake was now dotted, were none of them alone.
Suddenly the old parish church of Lacville chimed out the hour--it was
only one o'clock--amazingly early still!
Someone coming across the road lifted his hat. Could it be to her? Yes,
for it was the young man who had shared with her, for a time, the large
dining-room of the Villa du Lac.
Again Sylvia was struck by what she could only suppose were the
stranger's good manners, for instead of staring at her, as even the
good-humoured bourgeois with whom she had travelled from Paris that
morning had done, the Count--she remembered he was a Count--turned
sharply to the right and walked briskly along to the turning which
led to the Casino.
The Casino? Why, of course, it was there that she must look for Anna
Wolsky. How stupid of her not to have thought of it! And so, after
waiting a moment, she also joined the little string of people who were
wending their way towards the great white building.
After having paid a franc for admission, Sylvia found herself in the hall
of the Casino of Lacville. An eager attendant rushed forward to relieve
her of the dust-cloak and parasol which she was carrying.
"Does Madame wish to go straight to the Room of the Games?" he inquired
eagerly.
Sylvia bent her head. It was there, or so she supposed, that Anna would
be.
Feeling a thrill of keen curiosity, she followed the man through a
prettily-decorated vestibule, and so into a large room, overlooking the
lake, where already a crowd of people were gathered round the green baize
tables.
The Salle des Jeux at Lacville is a charming, conservatory-like
apartment, looking, indeed, as if it were actually built out on the
water.
But none of the people were looking at the beautiful scene outside.
Instead, each group was intent on the table, and on the game being played
thereon--a game, it may be mentioned, which has a certain affinity with
Roulette and Petits Chevaux, though it is neither the one nor the other.
Sylvia looked about her timidly; but no one took the slightest notice of
her, and this in itself was rather strange. She was used to exciting a
good deal of attention wherever she went in France, but here, at
Lacville, everyone seemed blind to her presence. It was almost as if she
were invisible! In a way this was a relief to her; but at the same time,
she found it curiously disconcerting.
She walked slowly round each gambling table, keeping well outside the
various circles of people sitting and standing there.
Strange to say Anna Wolsky was not among them. Of that fact Sylvia soon
became quite sure.
At last a servant in livery came up to her. "Does Madame want a seat?" he
asked officiously. "If so, I can procure Madame a seat in a very few
moments."
But Sylvia, blushing, shook her head. She certainly had no wish to sit
down.
"I only came in to look for a friend," she said, hesitatingly; "but my
friend is not here."
And she was making her way out of the Salle des Jeux, feeling rather
disconsolate and disappointed, when suddenly, in the vestibule, she saw
Madame Wolsky walking towards her in the company of a middle-aged man.
"Then that is settled?" Sylvia heard Anna say in her indifferent French.
"You will fill up all the formalities, and by the time I arrive the card
of membership will be ready for me? This kind of thing"--she waved her
hand towards the large room Sylvia had just left--"is no use to me at
all! I only like _le Grand Jeu_"; and a slight smile came over her dark
face.
The man who was with her laughed as if she had made a good joke; then
bowing, he left her.
"Sylvia!"
"Anna!"
Mrs. Bailey fancied that the other was not particularly sorry to have
been followed.
"So you came after me? Well! Well! I never should have thought to have
seen my dear Puritan, Sylvia Bailey, in such a place as the Casino of
Lacville?" said the Polish lady laughing. "However, as you are here,
let us enjoy ourselves. Would you like to risk a few francs?"
Together they had gone back into the Salle des Jeux, and Anna drew Sylvia
towards the nearest table.
"This is a child's game!" she exclaimed, contemptuously. "I cannot
understand how all these clever Parisians can care to come out here and
lose their money every Saturday and Sunday, to say nothing of other
days!"
"But I suppose some of these people make money?" questioned Sylvia. She
thought she saw a great deal of money being won, as well as lost, on the
green cloth of the table before her.
"Oh yes, no doubt a few may make money at this game! But I have just been
arranging, with the aid of the owner of the Pension where I am going to
stay when I come here, to join the Club."
And then, realising that Sylvia did not understand, she went on.
"You see, my dear child, there are two kinds of play here--as there are,
indeed, at almost every Casino in France. There is _this_ game, which is,
as I say, a child's game--a game at which you can make or lose a few
francs; and then there is Baccarat!"
She waited a moment.
"Yes?" said Sylvia questioningly.
"Baccarat is played here in what they call the Club, in another part of
the building. As there is an entrance fee to the Club, there is never
such a crowd in the Baccarat Room as there is here. And those who belong
to the Club 'mean business,' as they say in your dear country. They come,
that is, to play in the way that I understand and that I enjoy play!"
A little colour rose to Anna Wolsky's sallow cheeks; she looked
exhilarated, excited at the thoughts and memories her words conjured up.
Sylvia also felt curiously excited. She found the scene strangely
fascinating--the scene presented by this crowd of eager men and women,
each and all absorbed in this mysterious game which looked anything
but a child's game, though Anna had called it so.
But as they were trying to make their way through the now dense crowd of
people, the middle-aged man who had been with Anna when Sylvia had first
seen her just now hurried up to them.
"Everything is arranged, Madame!" he exclaimed. "Here is your membership
card. May I have the pleasure of taking you myself to the Club? Your
friend can come too. She does not want to play, does she?"
He looked inquisitively at Sylvia, and his hard face softened. He had
your true Frenchman's pleasure in charm and beauty. "Madame, or is it
Mademoiselle?--"
"Madame!" answered Anna, smiling.
"--Madame can certainly come in and look on for a few moments, even
though she be not a member of the Club."
They turned and followed him up a broad, shallow staircase, into a part
of the Casino where the very atmosphere seemed different from that
surrounding the public gaming tables.
Here, in the Club, all was hushed and quiet, and underfoot was a thick
carpet.
There were very few people in the Baccarat Room, some twelve men, and
four or five ladies who were broken up into groups, and talking with one
another in the intimate, desultory fashion in which people talk who meet
daily in pursuit of some common interest or hobby.
And then, all at once, Sylvia Bailey saw that among them, but standing a
little apart, was the Count--was not his name de Virieu?
He turned round, and as he saw her she thought that a look of surprise,
almost of annoyance, flitted over his impassive face. Then he moved away
from where he could see her.
A peculiar-looking old gentleman, who seemed on kindly terms with
everyone in the room, pulled a large turnip watch out of his pocket. "It
is nearly half-past one!" he exclaimed fussily. "Surely, it is time that
we began! Who takes the Bank to-day?"
"I will," said the Comte de Virieu, coming forward.
Five minutes later play was in full swing. Sylvia did not in the least
understand the game of Baccarat, and she would have been surprised indeed
had she been told that the best account of it ever written is that which
describes it as "neither a recreation nor an intellectual exercise, but
simply a means for the rapid exchange of money well suited to persons of
impatient temperament."
With fascinated eyes, Sylvia watched Anna put down her gold pieces on the
green cloth. Then she noted the cards as they were dealt out, and
listened, it must be admitted, uncomprehendingly, to the mysterious words
which told how the game was going. Still she sympathised very heartily
with her friend when Anna's gold pieces were swept away, and she rejoiced
as heartily when gold was added to Anna's little pile.
They both stood, refusing the seats which were pressed upon them.
Suddenly Sylvia Bailey, looking up from the green cloth, saw the eyes of
the man who held the Bank fixed full upon her.
The Comte de Virieu did not gaze at the young English woman with the
bold, impersonal stare to which she had become accustomed--his glance was
far more thoughtful, questioning, and in a sense kindly. But his eyes
seemed to pierce her through and through, and suddenly her heart began
to beat very fast. Yet no colour came into her face--indeed, Sylvia grew
pale.
She looked down at the table, but even so she remained conscious of that
piercing gaze turned on her, and with some surprise she found herself
keenly visualising the young man's face.
Alone among all the people in the room, the Comte de Virieu looked as if
he lived a more or less outdoor life; his face was tanned, his blue eyes
were very bright, and the hands dealing out the cards were well-shaped
and muscular. Somehow he looked very different, she could hardly explain
how or why, from the men round him.
At last she moved round, so as to avoid being opposite to him.
Yes, she felt more comfortable now, and slowly, almost insensibly, the
glamour of play began to steal over Sylvia Bailey's senses. She began to
understand the at once very simple and, to the uninitiated, intricate
game of Baccarat--to long, as Anna Wolsky longed, for the fateful nine,
eight, five, and four to be turned up.
She had fifty francs in her purse, and she ached to risk a gold piece.
"Do you think I might put down ten francs?" she whispered to Anna.
And the other laughed, and exclaimed, "Yes, of course you can!"
Sylvia put down a ten-franc piece, and a moment later it had become
twenty francs.
"Leave it on," murmured Anna, "and see what happens--"
Sylvia followed her friend's advice, and a larger gold piece was added to
the two already there.
She took up the forty francs with a curious thrill of joy and fear.
But then an untoward little incident took place. One of the liveried
men-servants stepped forward. "Has Madame got her card of membership?"
he inquired smoothly.
Sylvia blushed painfully. No, she had not got a card of membership--and
there had been an implied understanding that she was only to look on, not
play.
She felt terribly ashamed--a very unusual feeling for Sylvia Bailey--and
the gold pieces she held in her hand, for she had not yet put them in her
purse, felt as if they burnt her.
But she found a friend, a defender in an unexpected quarter. The Count
rose from the table. He said a few words in a low tone to the servant,
and the man fell back.
"Of course, this young lady may play," he addressed Anna, "and as Banker
I wish her all good luck! This is probably her first and her last visit
to Lacville." He smiled pleasantly, and a little sadly. Sylvia noticed
that he had a low, agreeable voice.
"Take her away, Madame, when she has won a little more! Do not give her
time to lose what she has won."
He spoke exactly as if Sylvia was a child. She felt piqued, and Madame
Wolsky stared at him rather haughtily. Still, she was grateful for his
intervention.
"We thank you, Monsieur," she said stiffly. "But I think we have been
here quite long enough."
He bowed, and again sat down.
"I will now take you a drive, Sylvia. We have had sufficient of this!"
Anna walked towards the door, and many were the curious glances now
turned after the two friends.
"It will amuse you to see something of Lacville. As that gentleman said,
I do not suppose you will ever come here again. And, as I shall spend
most of my time in the Casino, I can very well afford to spare a little
while out of it to-day!"
They made their way out of the great white building, Sylvia feeling
oppressed, almost bewildered, by her first taste of gambling.
It was three o'clock, and very hot. They hailed one of the little open
carriages which are among the innocent charms of Lacville.
"First you will go round the lake," said Madame Wolsky to the driver,
"and then you will take us to the Pension Malfait, in l'Avenue des
Acacias."
Under shady trees, bowling along sanded roads lined with pretty villas
and châlets, they drove all round the lake, and more and more the place
impressed Sylvia as might have done a charming piece of scene-painting.
All the people they passed on the road, in carriages, in motor-cars, and
on foot, looked happy, prosperous, gay, and without a care in the world;
and where in the morning there had been one boat, there were now five
sailing on the blue, gleaming waters fringed with trees and flowering
shrubs.
At last they once more found themselves close to the Casino. A steady
stream of people was now pouring in through the great glass doors.
"This sort of thing will go on up till about nine this evening!"
said Anna, smiling grimly. "Think, my dear--a hundred and twenty trains
daily! That room in the Casino where I first saw you will be crammed to
suffocation within an hour, and even the Club will be well filled, though
I fancy the regular habitués of the club are rather apt to avoid Saturday
and Sunday at Lacville. I myself, when living here, shall try to do
something else on those two days. By the way--how dreadful that I should
forget!--have you had a proper _déjeuner_?" she looked anxiously at
Sylvia.
Sylvia laughed, and told something of her adventures at the Villa du Lac.
"The Villa du Lac? I have heard of it, but surely it's an extremely
expensive hotel? The place I've chosen for myself is farther away from
the Casino; but the distance will force me to take a walk every day, and
that will be a very good thing. Last time I was at Monte Carlo I had a
lodging right up in Monaco, and I found that a very much healthier plan
than to live close to the Casino," Anna spoke quite seriously. "The
Pension Malfait is really extraordinarily cheap for a place near Paris.
I am only going to pay fifty-five francs a week, _tout compris_!"
They had now turned from the road encircling the lake, and were driving
through leafy avenues which reminded Sylvia of a London suburb where she
had once stayed.
The châlets and villas by which they passed were not so large nor so
prosperous-looking as those that bordered the lake, but still many of
them were pretty and fantastic-looking little houses, and the gardens
were gay with flowers.
"I suppose no one lives here in the winter!" said Sylvia suddenly.
She had noticed, for in some ways she was very observant though in other
ways strangely unseeing, that all the flowers were of the bedding-out
varieties; there were luxuriant creepers, but not a single garden that
she passed had that indefinable look of being an old or a well-tended
garden.
"In the winter? Why, in the winter Lacville is an absolute desert," said
Anna laughing. "You see, the Casino only has a summer Concession; it
cannot open till April 15. Of course there are people who will tell you
that Lacville is the plague-pit of Paris, but that's all nonsense!
Lacville is neither better nor worse than other towns near the capital!"
The carriage had now drawn up before a large, plain, white house, across
which was painted in huge, black letters, "Hôtel-Pension Malfait."
"This is the place I have found!" exclaimed Anna. "Would you care to come
in and see the room I've engaged from next Monday week?"
Sylvia followed her into the house with curiosity and interest. Somehow
she did not like the Pension Malfait, though it was clear that it had
once been a handsome private mansion standing in large grounds of its
own. The garden, however, had now been cut down to a small strip, and the
whole place formed a great contrast to the gay and charming Villa du Lac.
What garden there was seemed uncared for, though an attempt had been made
to make it look pretty with the aid of a few geraniums and marguerites.
M. Malfait, the proprietor of the Pension, whom Sylvia had already seen
with Anna at the Casino, now came forward in the hall, and Sylvia
compared him greatly to his disadvantage, to the merry M. Polperro.
"Madame has brought her friend?" he said eagerly, and staring at Sylvia
as he spoke. "I hope that Madame's friend will come and stay with us too?
I have a charming room which I could give this lady; but later on we
shall be very full--full all the summer! The hot weather is a godsend
for Lacville; for it drives the Parisians out from their unhealthy city."
He beckoned to his wife, a disagreeable-looking woman who was sitting in
a little glass cage made in an angle of the square hall.
"Madame Wolsky has brought this good lady to see our Pension!" he
exclaimed, "and perhaps she is also coming to stay with us--"
In vain Sylvia smilingly shook her head. She was made to go all over the
large, rather gloomy house, and to peep into each of the bare, ugly
bed-rooms.
That which Anna had engaged had a window looking over the back of the
house; Sylvia thought it singularly cheerless. There was, however, a good
arm-chair and a writing-table on which lay a new-looking blotter. It was
the only bed-room containing such a luxury.
"An English lady was staying here not very long ago," observed M.
Malfait, "and she bought that table and left it to me as a little gift
when she went away. That was very gracious on her part!"
They glanced into the rather mournful-looking _salon_, of which the
windows opened out on the tiny garden. And then M. Malfait led them
proudly into the dining-room, with its one long table, running down the
middle, on which at intervals were set dessert dishes filled with the
nuts, grapes, and oranges of which Sylvia had already become so weary at
the Hôtel de l'Horloge.
"My clientèle," said M. Malfait gravely, "is very select and _chic_.
Those of my guests who frequent the Casino all belong to the Club!"
He stated the fact proudly, and Sylvia was amused to notice that in this
matter he and mine host at the Villa du Lac apparently saw eye to eye.
Both were eager to dissociate themselves from the ordinary gambler who
lost or won a few francs in those of the gambling rooms open to the
general public.
"Well," said Anna at last, "I suppose we had better leave now, but we
might as well go on driving for about an hour, and then, when it is a
little cooler, we will go back to Paris and be there in time for tea."
The driver was as good-natured as everyone else at Lacville seemed to be.
He drove his fares away from the town, and so to the very outskirts of
Lacville, where there were many charming bits of wild woodland and
gardens up for sale.
"Even five years ago," he said, "much of this was forest, Mesdames; but
now--well, Dame!--you can understand people are eager to sell. There are
rumours that the Concession may be withdrawn from the Casino--that would
be terrible, some say it would kill Lacville! It would be all the same to
me, I should always find work elsewhere. But it makes everyone eager to
sell--those, I mean, who have land at Lacville. There are others,"
continued the man--he had turned round on his seat, and the horse was
going at a foot's pace--"who declare that it would be far better for the
town--that there would be a more solid population established here--you
understand, Mesdames, what I mean? The Lacville tradesmen would be as
pleased, quite as pleased, or so some of them say; but, all the same,
they are selling their land!"
When the two friends finally got back to the Hôtel de l'Horloge, Sylvia
Bailey found that a letter, which had not been given to her that morning,
contained the news that the English friends whom she had been expecting
to join in Switzerland the following week had altered their plans, and
were no longer going abroad.