A Son of the Sahara Part 19

In the library of the villa, Le Breton sat alone. The hour was late, getting on to midnight. He was stretched in a deep chair smoking, his gaze fixed on a desk close by, on which was a wide, shallow, crystal bowl full of water where half a dozen purple pansies floated.

As he sat there indulging in some dream of his own, a door opened and he looked round sharply, by no means pleased at being roused from his reverie. The room was his special sanctum; no one was supposed to enter without his permission.

In the doorway Lucille stood, in a foamy white dressing-gown, her wealth of red hair in two thick ropes down her back.

On seeing her, a look of suppressed annoyance crossed his face.

"What is it?" he asked in a none too cordial tone.

She crossed to his side, and stood looking down at him anxiously.

"What has happened to you the last two days?" she asked.

"Happened to me! What do you mean?"

"You've been so very indifferent."

"Was I ever particularly effusive?"

She laid her hand on his sleeve with a lingering, caressing touch.

"I see nothing of you now except at meals," she said.

With an impatient gesture he drew his arm away.

"I'm not always in the mood for women," he said coldly.

"Perhaps it would be nearer the truth if you said some other woman has taken your fancy," she suggested.

There was no reply.

Le Breton got to his feet and crossed to the desk, standing there with his back to her as if he resented her presence.

It was most obvious to Lucille that she was not welcome.

"What is this new fancy of yours like?" she asked in a hurt, jealous tone.

He made no answer, but his very back oozed annoyance.

"What's her price, Raoul?" she asked in a wild manner. "Is it emeralds or pearls or diamonds? Or is she one whose price is above rubies?"

He faced round suddenly, anger flashing in his eyes.

"Be quiet, woman!" he said savagely.

She laughed hysterically.

"So she's something too good for me to talk about, is she? Does she know of all your gay doings in Paris?"

"Oh, you women!" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed contemptuously. "Can you never learn the virtue of silence?"

In an angry manner he went from the room, leaving Lucille in possession. She watched him until the door closed. Then she sank down into the chair he had vacated and stayed there with bowed head, weeping bitterly.

CHAPTER IX

At a spot about ten miles away from Las Palmas there are some well-known orange groves. Stretch upon stretch of scented trees, they made a lattice-work of smooth boughs and shiny leaves overhead, with a glint of blue sky here and there. The ground was strewn with white petals, and cl.u.s.ters of white blossoms made fragrant the gilded greenness. A glimpse of the sea could be had, and the waves filled the air with a constant, soft, distant murmur.

At one spot in the scented grove preparations had been made for an elaborate picnic. Piles of soft silk cushions were set upon the ground. On a cloth of finest linen was spread an array of frail china and heavy silver, with here and there some golden dish holding dainties.

Two impa.s.sive men with lean, brown faces, clad in flowing white robes, stood near. Beyond all view of the feast came a faint rattle of pots and pans, and a little wavering column of smoke rose from a fire where breakfast was being prepared.

When Pansy had come down the hotel steps for her usual early morning ride she had not been very surprised to find Le Breton there waiting for her.

She had had a wide experience of men and their ways, and she knew what she called "the symptoms." Generally "the symptoms" annoyed her; she felt they had more to do with her money than herself. But Le Breton's case was different. She knew who he was, but he had no idea of her ident.i.ty.

"I'm going to take you out for breakfast this time," he said on seeing her.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"To the orange groves beyond Telde."

They had ridden through the white city, and then on, skirting the coast, past banana plantations, cindery-looking cliffs and a lava bed where the poisonous euphorbia grew, ten to twelve feet high, stiff and straight, like gigantic candelabras.

"I was thinking about you last night," Pansy remarked once, between their canters. "What you said about the miry depths. And I remember having read somewhere that water can always reach to the level it rises from. When people get into the depths they should remember that; it'll help them to scramble out."

The miry depths of dissipation into which he occasionally plunged had never troubled Le Breton in the least. He was not actively aware that they did now, although he hoped that Pansy would not get to hear of them. But it was all part of the girl's nature to have ready the helpful hand.

"So, Pansy," he said, "having saved my body, you're now after my soul."

"Oh no, I'm not a missionary! But if you like people, there's no harm in giving them a word in season."

He brought his horse closer, and bent towards the girl.

"So you like me?" he said in a caressing tone.

"I shouldn't be here if I didn't," she answered candidly.

"And what if I say I like _you_?" he asked, laughing softly.

"I should say it's very nice of you, considering you know nothing at all about me."

"I can see you are beautiful. I know your heart is kind.

Circ.u.mstances have shown me you are not mercenary. What more could I wish to know about you? Isn't the combination enough to attract any man?"

"Considering you are French, you've missed the vital point," she said demurely. "You haven't said anything about a _dot_."