Sylvia could hardly have said how it came about that she found herself
established in the Villa du Lac only a week after her first visit to
Lacville! But so it was, and she found the change a delightful one from
every point of view.
Paris had suddenly become intolerably hot. As is the way with the Siren
city when June is half-way through, the asphalt pavements radiated heat;
the air was heavy, laden with strange, unpleasing odours; and even the
trees, which form such delicious oases of greenery in the older quarters
of the town were powdered with grey dust.
Also Anna Wolsky had become restless--quite unlike what she had been
before that hour spent by her and by Sylvia Bailey in the Club at
Lacville; she had gone back there three times, refusing, almost angrily,
the company of her English friend. For a day or two Sylvia had thought
seriously of returning to England, but she had let her pretty house at
Market Dalling till the end of August; and, in spite of the heat, she did
not wish to leave France.
Towards the end of the week Anna suddenly exclaimed:
"After all, why shouldn't you come out to Lacville, Sylvia? You can't go
to Switzerland alone, and you certainly don't want to go on staying in
Paris as Paris is now! I do not ask you to go to the Pension Malfait, but
come to the Villa du Lac. You will soon make acquaintances in that sort
of place--I mean," she added, "in your hotel, not in the town. We could
always spend the mornings together--"
"--And I, too, could join the Club at the Casino," interjected Sylvia,
smiling.
"No, no, I don't want you to do that!" exclaimed Anna hastily.
And then Sylvia, for some unaccountable reason, felt rather irritated. It
was absurd of Anna to speak to her like that! Bill Chester, her trustee,
and sometime lover, always treated her as if she was a child, and a
rather naughty child, too; she would not allow Anna Wolsky to do so.
"I don't see why not!" she cried. "You yourself say that there is no harm
in gambling if one can afford it."
* * * * *
This was how Sylvia Bailey came to find herself an inmate of the Villa du
Lac at Lacville; and when once the owner of the Hôtel de l'Horloge had
understood that in any case she meant to leave Paris, he had done all in
his power to make her going to his relation, mine host of the Villa du
Lac, easy and agreeable.
Sylvia learnt with surprise that she would have to pay very little more
at the Villa du Lac than she had done at the Hôtel de l'Horloge; on the
other hand, she could not there have the use of a sitting-room, for the
good reason that there were no private sitting-rooms in the villa. But
that, so she told herself, would be no hardship, and she could spend
almost the whole of the day in the charming garden.
The two friends arrived at Lacville late in the afternoon, and on a
Monday, that is on the quietest day of the week. And when Anna had
left Sylvia at the Villa du Lac, driving off alone to her own humbler
_pension_, the young Englishwoman, while feeling rather lonely, realised
that M. Polperro had not exaggerated the charm of his hostelry.
Proudly mine host led Mrs. Bailey up the wide staircase into the
spacious, airy room which had been prepared for her. "This was the
bed-chamber of Madame la Comtesse de Para, the friend of the Empress
Eugénie" he said.
The windows of the large, circular room, mirror-lined, and still
containing the fantastic, rather showy decorations which dated from the
Second Empire, overlooked the broad waters of the lake. Even now, though
it was still daylight, certain romantic-natured couples had lit paper
lanterns and hung them at the prows of their little sailing-boats.
The scene had a certain fairy-like beauty and stillness.
"Madame will find the Villa du Lac far more lively now" exclaimed M.
Polperro cheerfully. "Last week I had only M. le Comte Paul de Virieu--no
doubt Madame has heard of his brother-in-law, the Duc d'Eglemont?"
Sylvia smiled. "Yes, he won the Derby, a famous English race," she said;
and then, simply because the landlord's love of talking was infectious,
"And does the Count own horses, too?" she asked.
"Oh, no, Madame. He loves them, yes, and he is a fine horseman, but Count
Paul, alas! has other things that interest and occupy him more than
horses!"
After M. Polperro had bowed himself out, Sylvia sat down close to one of
the open windows and looked out over the enchanting, and to her English
eyes, unusual panorama spread out before her.
Yes, she had done well to come here, to a place of which, no doubt, many
of her English friends would have thoroughly disapproved! But, after all,
what was wrong about Lacville? Where, for the matter of that, was the
harm of playing for money if one could afford to lose it?
Sylvia had hardly ever met so kind or so intelligent a woman as was
her new friend, Anna Wolsky: and Anna--she made no secret of it at
all--allowed playing for money to be her one absorbing interest in life.
As she thought of the Polish woman Sylvia felt sorry that she and her
friend were in different _pensions_. It would have been so nice to have
had her here, in the Villa du Lac. She felt rather lost without Anna, for
she had become accustomed to the other's pleasant, stimulating
companionship.
M. Polperro had said that dinner was at half-past seven. Sylvia got up
from her chair by the window. She moved back into the room and put on a
pretty white lace evening dress which she had not worn since she had been
in France.
It would have been absurd to have appeared in such a gown in the little
dining-room of the Hôtel de l'Horloge, which opened into the street; but
the Villa du Lac was quite different.
As she saw herself reflected in one of the long mirrors let into the
wall, Sylvia blushed and half-smiled. She had suddenly remembered the
young man who had behaved, on that first visit of hers to the Villa du
Lac, so much more discreetly than had all the other Frenchmen with whom
she had been brought in temporary contact. She was familiar, through
newspaper paragraphs, with the name of his brother-in-law, the French
duke who had won the Derby. The Duc d'Eglemont, that was the racing
French duke who had carried off the blue riband of the British Turf--the
other name was harder to remember--then it came to her. Count Paul de
Virieu. How kind and courteous he had been to her and her friend in
the Club. She remembered him very vividly. Yes, though not exactly
good-looking, he had fine eyes, and a clever, if not a very happy, face.
And then, on going down the broad, shallow staircase, and so through the
large, oval hall into the dining-room, Sylvia Bailey saw that the man of
whom she had been thinking was there, sitting very near to where she
herself was now told that she was to sit. In the week that had gone by
since Sylvia had paid her first visit to Lacville, the Villa had
gradually filled up with people eager, like herself, to escape from the
heat and dust of Paris, and the pleasant little table by the window had
been appropriated by someone else.
When the young Englishwoman came into the dining-room, the Comte de
Virieu got up from his chair, and clicking his heels together, bowed low
and gravely.
She had never seen a man do that before. And it looked so funny! Sylvia
felt inclined to burst out laughing. But all she did was to nod gravely,
and the Count, sitting down, took no further apparent notice of her.
There were a good many people in the large room; parties of two, three,
and four, talking merrily together, as is the way with French people at
their meals. No one was alone save the Comte de Virieu and herself.
Sylvia wondered if he felt as lonely as she did.
Towards the end of dinner the host came in and beamed on his guests; then
he walked across to where Mrs. Bailey sat by herself. "I hope Madame is
satisfied with her dinner," he said pleasantly. "Madame must always tell
me if there is anything she does not like."
He called the youngest of the three waitresses. "Félicie! You must look
very well after Madame," he said solemnly. "Make her comfortable, attend
to her slightest wish"--and then he chuckled--"This is my niece," he
said, "a very good girl! She is our adopted daughter. Madame will only
have to ask her for anything she wants."
Sylvia felt much happier, and no longer lonely. It was all rather
absurd--but it was all very pleasant! She had never met an hotel keeper
like little Polperro, one at once so familiar and so inoffensive in
manner.
"Thank you so much," she said, "but I am more than comfortable! And after
dinner I shall go to the Casino to meet my friend, Madame Wolsky."
After they had finished dinner most of M. Polperro's guests streamed out
into the garden; and there coffee was served to them on little round iron
tables dotted about on the broad green lawn and sanded paths.
One or two of the ladies spoke a kindly word to Sylvia as they passed by
her, but each had a friend or friends, and she was once more feeling
lonely and deserted when suddenly Count Paul de Virieu walked across to
where she was sitting by herself.
Again he clicked his heels together, and again he bowed low. But already
Sylvia was getting used to these strange foreign ways, and she no longer
felt inclined to laugh; in fact, she rather liked the young Frenchman's
grave, respectful manner.
"If, as I suppose, Madame, seeing that you have come back to Lacville--"
Sylvia looked up with surprise painted on her fair face, for the Count
was speaking in English, and it was extremely good, almost perfect
English.
"--and you wish to join the Club at the Casino, I hope, Madame, that you
will allow me to have the honour of proposing you as a member."
He waited a moment, and then went on: "It is far better for a lady to be
introduced by someone who is already a member, than for the affair to be
managed"--he slightly lowered his voice--"by an hotel keeper. I am well
known to the Casino authorities. I have been a member of the Club for
some time--"
He stood still gazing thoughtfully down into her face.
"But I am not yet sure that I shall join the Club," said Sylvia,
hesitatingly.
He looked--was it relieved or sorry?
"I beg your pardon, Madame! I misunderstood. I thought you told M.
Polperro just now in the dining-room that you were going to the Casino
this evening."
Sylvia felt somewhat surprised. It was odd that he should have overheard
her words to M. Polperro, amid all the chatter of their fellow-guests.
"Yes, I am going to the Casino," she said frankly, "but only to meet a
friend of mine there, the lady with whom I was the other day when you so
kindly interfered to save us, or rather to save _me_, from being
ignominiously turned out of the Club." And then she added, a little
shyly, "Won't you sit down?"
Again the Comte de Virieu bowed low before her, and then he sat down.
"I fear you will not be allowed to go into the Club this time unless you
become a member. They have to be very strict in these matters; to allow a
stranger in the Club at all is a legal infraction. The Casino authorities
might be fined for doing so."
"How well you speak English!" exclaimed Sylvia, abruptly and
irrelevantly.
"I was at school in England," he said, simply, "at a Catholic College
called Beaumont, near Windsor; but now I do not go there as often as
I should like to do."
And then, scarcely knowing how it came about, Sylvia fell into easy,
desultory, almost intimate talk with this entire stranger. But there was
something very agreeable in his simple serious manners.
After a while Sylvia suddenly remembered that the Count had thrown his
cigarette away before speaking to her.
"Won't you smoke?" she said.
"Are you sure you don't mind, Madame?"
"No, of course I don't mind!" and she was just going to add that her
husband had been a great smoker, when some feeling she could not have
analysed to herself made her alter her words to "My father smoked all day
long--"
The Count got up and went off towards the house. Sylvia supposed he had
gone to get his cigarette-case; but a moment later he came back and sat
down by her again. And then very soon out came the host's pretty little
niece with a shawl over her arm. "I have brought Madame a shawl," said
the girl, smiling, "for it's getting a little cold," and Sylvia felt
touched. How very kind French people were--how kind and how thoughtful!
It struck half-past eight. Mrs. Bailey and the Comte de Virieu had been
talking for quite a long time.
Sylvia jumped up. "I must go now," she cried, a little regretfully. "I
promised to meet my friend in the hall of the Casino at half-past eight.
She must be there waiting for me, now."
"If you will allow me to do so, I will escort you to the Casino," said
the Count.
Sylvia ran upstairs to put on her hat and gloves. On the table which did
duty for a dressing-table there was a small nosegay of flowers in a glass
of water. It had not been there before she had come down to dinner.
As she put on a large black tulle hat she told herself with a happy smile
that Lacville was an enchanting, a delightful place, and that she already
felt quite at home here!
The Comte de Virieu was waiting for her in the hall.
"I think I ought to introduce myself to you, Madame," he said solemnly.
"My name is Paul de Virieu."
"And mine is Sylvia Bailey," she said, a little breathlessly.
As they were hurrying along the short piece of road which led to the lane
in which the Casino of Lacville is situated, the Count said suddenly,
"Will you pardon me, Madame, if I take the liberty of saying that you
should arrange for your friend to call for you on those evenings that you
intend to spend at the Casino? It is not what English people call
'proper' for you to go to the Casino alone, or only accompanied by
a stranger--for I, alas! am still a stranger to you."
There was no touch of coquetry or flirtation in the voice in which he
said those words. Sylvia blushed violently, but she did not feel annoyed,
only queerly touched by his solicitude for--well, she supposed it was for
her reputation.
"You see, Madame," he went on soberly, "you look very young--I mean,
pardon me, you _are_ very young, and I will confess to you that the first
time I saw you I thought you were a 'Miss.' Of course, I saw at once that
you were English."
"An English girl would hardly have come all by herself to Lacville!" said
Sylvia a little flippantly.
"Oh, Madame, English young ladies do such strange things!"
Sylvia wondered if the Count were not over-particular. Was Lacville the
sort of place in which a woman could not walk a few yards by herself? It
looked such a happy, innocent sort of spot.
"Perhaps I do not make myself clear," went on Count Paul.
He spoke very quickly, and in a low voice, for they were now approaching
the door of the Casino. "Not very long ago a lady had her hand-bag
snatched from her within a few yards of the police-station, in the centre
of the town. Everyone comes here to make or to lose money--"
"But most of the people look so quiet and respectable," she said smiling.
"That is true, but there are the exceptions. Lacville contains more
exceptions than do most places, Madame."
They were now in the hall of the Casino. Yes, there was Anna Wolsky
looking eagerly at the great glass doors.
"Anna? Anna? Here I am! I'm so sorry I'm late!"
Sylvia turned to introduce the Comte de Virieu to Madame Wolsky, but
he was already bowing stiffly, and before she could speak he walked on,
leaving Mrs. Bailey with her friend.
"I see you've already made one acquaintance, Sylvia," said the Polish
lady dryly.
"That's the man who was so kind the last time we were here together. He
is staying at the Villa du Lac," Sylvia answered, a little guiltily. "His
name is Count Paul de Virieu."
"Yes, I am aware of that; I know him by sight quite well," Anna said
quickly.
"And he has offered to propose me as a member of the Club if I wish to
join," added Sylvia.
"_I_ shall propose you--of course!" exclaimed Anna Wolsky. "But I do not
think it is worth worrying about your membership to-night. We can spend
the evening downstairs, in the public Salle des Jeux. I should not care
to leave you alone there, even on a Monday evening."
"You talk as if I were sugar or salt that would melt!" said Sylvia, a
little vexed.
"One has to be very careful in a place like Lacville," said Anna shortly.
"There are all sorts of queer people gathered together here on the
look-out for an easy way of making money." She turned an affectionate
look on her friend. "You are not only very pretty, my dear Sylvia, but
you look what the people here probably regard as being of far more
consequence, that is, opulent."
"So I am," said Sylvia gaily, "opulent and very, very happy, dear Anna!
I am so glad that you brought me here, and first made me acquainted with
this delightful place! I am sure Switzerland would not have been half as
amusing as Lacville--"
* * * * *
The public gambling room was much quieter and emptier than it had been
on the Saturday when Sylvia had first seen it. But all the people playing
there, both those sitting at the table and those who stood in serried
ranks behind them, looked as if they were engaged on some serious
undertaking.
They did not appear, as the casual holiday crowd had done, free from
care. There was comparatively little talking among them, and each round
of the monotonous game was got through far quicker than had been the case
the week before. Money was risked, lost, or gained, with extraordinary
swiftness and precision.
A good many of the people there, women as well as men, glanced idly for
a moment at the two newcomers, but they soon looked away again, intent on
their play.
Sylvia felt keenly interested. She could have stopped and watched the
scene for hours without wanting to play herself; but Anna Wolsky soon
grew restless, and started playing. Even risking a few francs was better
to her than not gambling at all!
"It's an odd thing," she said in a low voice, "but I don't see here any
of the people I'm accustomed to see at Monte Carlo. As a rule, whenever
one goes to this kind of place one meets people one has seen before. We
gamblers are a caste--a sect part!"
"I can't bear to hear you call yourself a gambler," said Sylvia in a low
voice.
Anna laughed good-humouredly.
"Believe me, my dear, there is not the difference you apparently think
there is between a gambler and the man who has never touched a card."
Anna Wolsky looked round her as she spoke with a searching glance, and
then she suddenly exclaimed,
"Yes, I do know someone here after all! That funny-looking couple over
there were at Aix-les-Bains all last summer."
"Which people do you mean?" asked Sylvia eagerly.
"Don't you see that long, thin man who is so queerly dressed--and his
short, fat wife? A dreadful thing happened to them--a great friend of
theirs, a Russian, was drowned in Lac Bourget. It made a great deal of
talk in Aix at the time it happened."
Sylvia Bailey looked across the room. She was able to pick out in a
moment the people Anna meant, and perhaps because she was in good spirits
to-night, she smiled involuntarily at their rather odd appearance.
Standing just behind the _croupier_--whose task it is to rake in and to
deal out the money--was a short, stout, dark woman, dressed in a bright
purple gown, and wearing a pale blue bonnet particularly unbecoming to
her red, massive face. She was not paying much attention to the play,
though now and again she put a five-franc piece onto the green baize.
Instead, her eyes were glancing round restlessly this way and that,
almost as if she were seeking for someone.
Behind her, in strong contrast to herself, was a tall, thin, lanky man,
to Sylvia's English eyes absurdly as well as unsuitably dressed in a grey
alpaca suit and a shabby Panama hat. In his hand he held open a small
book, in which he noted down all the turns of the game. Unlike his short,
stout wife, this tall, thin man seemed quite uninterested in the people
about him, and Sylvia could see his lips moving, his brows frowning, as
if he were absorbed in some intricate and difficult calculation.
The couple looked different from the people about them; in a word, they
did not look French.
"The man--their name is Wachner--only plays on a system," whispered Anna.
"He is in fact what I call a System Maniac. That is why he keeps noting
down the turns in his little book. That sort of gambler ought never to
leave Monte Carlo. It is only at Monte Carlo--that is to say, at
Roulette--that such a man ever gets a real chance of winning anything.
I should have expected them to belong to the Club, and not to trouble
over this kind of play!"
Even as she spoke, Anna slightly inclined her head, and the woman at whom
they were both looking smiled broadly, showing her strong white teeth as
she did so; and then, as her eyes travelled from Anna Wolsky to Anna's
companion, they became intent and questioning.
Madame Wachner, in spite of her unwieldy form, and common, showy clothes,
was fond of beautiful things, and especially fond of jewels. She was
wondering whether the pearls worn by the lovely young Englishwoman
standing opposite were real or sham.
The two friends did not stay very long in the Casino on that first
evening. Sylvia drove Anna to the Pension Malfait, and then she came back
alone to the Villa du Lac.
* * * * *
Before drawing together the curtains of her bed-room windows, Sylvia
Bailey stood for some minutes looking out into the warm moonlit night.
On the dark waters of the lake floated miniature argosies, laden with
lovers seeking happiness--ay, and perhaps finding it, too.
The Casino was outlined with fairy lamps; the scene was full of glamour,
and of mysterious beauty. More than ever Sylvia was reminded of an
exquisite piece of scene painting, and it seemed to her as if she were
the heroine of a romantic opera--and the hero, with his ardent eyes and
melancholy, intelligent face, was Count Paul de Virieu.
She wondered uneasily why Anna Wolsky had spoken of the Count as she had
done--was it with dislike or only contempt?
Long after Sylvia was in bed she could hear the tramping made by the feet
of those who were leaving the Casino and hurrying towards the station;
but she did not mind the sound. All was so strange, new, and delightful,
and she fell asleep and dreamt pleasant dreams.