If Sinners Entice Thee Part 32

She took from the large purse she carried a card on which to record the game, impaled it to the green cloth with a pin, in the manner of the professional gambler, and drew forth a small roll of notes.

The first time she played the "tailleur" dealt the cards quickly, one by one, then cried, "_Six, quatre, rouge gagne et couleur perd_."

She had lost. But next time she tossed two notes upon the scarlet diamond before her and won. She doubled her stake, won again, and then allowed the cards to be dealt several times without risking anything.

Presently, she hesitated, but suddenly counted out five one hundred-franc notes, folded them in half and carelessly tossed them upon the red. Again the cards were dealt one by one upon the leather-covered square; again the monotonous voice sounded, and again came her winnings towards her, five notes folded together on the end of the croupier's rake.

So engrossed had George become in the game, that he noticed nothing of what was transpiring around him. Had he not been so deeply interested in the play of this woman whom his father had designated as his wife, his attention would probably have been attracted by a curious incident.

At the moment when the cards had been dealt, a man seated at the end of the opposite table, who, with his companion had won a considerable sum, raised his head, and, for the first time, noticed amid the excited expectant crowd, that it was a woman who had been successful at the other table.

The man was Zertho. Next instant, however, his face went white. In his eyes there was a look of abject terror when he identified the lucky player. With a sudden movement he put his hand to his head to avoid recognition, and bending quickly to his companion, gasped,--

"Look, Brooker! Can't you see who's in front? Good G.o.d! why there's `The Golden Hand.' Quick! We must fly!"

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

THE HOUSE OF THE WICKED.

Next afternoon Liane and Zertho strolled up to Cimiez together to pay a call upon a Parisian family named Bertholet, who lived in one of those fine white houses high up on the Boulevard de Cimiez, and who had recently accepted the Prince's hospitality.

As they turned from the dusty Boulevard Carabacel, and commenced the long ascent where the tree-lined road runs straight up to the glaring white facade of the Excelsior Regina Hotel, Zertho expressed a fear that she would be fatigued ere they reached their destination, and urged her to take a cab.

"I'm not at all tired," she a.s.sured him, nevertheless halting a second, flushed and warm, to regain breath. "The day is so beautiful that a walk will do me no end of good."

"It's a dreadful bore to have to toil up and call on these people, but I suppose I must be polite to them. They are worth knowing. Bertholet is, I hear, a well-known banker in Paris."

Liane smiled. The patronising air with which her companion spoke of his newly-found friends always amused her.

"Besides," he added, "we must now make the best of the time we have in Nice. We leave to-morrow, or the day after."

"So sudden!" she exclaimed, surprised. "I thought we should remain for another fortnight or three weeks. The weather is so delightful."

"I have arranged it with the Captain," he said briefly. "Do you regret leaving?"

"How can I regret?" she asked, glancing at him and raising her brows slightly. "How can I regret when the place, so fair in itself, is to me so hateful? No, I'm glad for several reasons that we are leaving."

She recollected at that moment what George had told her. Mariette Lepage was near them. She remembered, too, the fierce expression of hatred in that pair of angry eyes shining through the mask.

"Yes," he said at length, "one can have too much of a good thing, and sometimes it is even possible to have too much of the Riviera. I have the satisfaction at least of having succeeded in obtaining a footing in society." And he laughed as he added, "A year ago I was a down-at-heel adventurer, almost too shabby to obtain admittance at Monte Carlo, while to-day I'm welcomed everywhere, even among the most exclusive set. And why? Merely because I have money and impudence."

"Yes," Liane admitted, with a touch of sorrow. "This is indeed a curious world. There is a good deal of truth in the saying that a man is too often judged by his coat."

"And a woman by her dress," he added quickly. "When you are Princess d'Auzac, you will find that other women will crowd around you and pet you, and declare you are the most beautiful girl of the year--as, of course, you are--all because you have wealth and a t.i.tle. They like to speak to their friends of `My friend the Princess So-and-So.'"

"You are very complimentary," she answered, coldly. "I have no desire to excite either the admiration or envy of other women."

"Because you have never yet fully realised how beautiful you are," he answered.

"Oh yes, I have. Every woman knows the exact worth of her good looks."

"Some over-estimate them, no doubt," he said, with a laugh. "But you have always under-estimated yours. If the Captain had chosen he could have already married you to a dozen different men, all wealthy and distinguished."

"Dear old dad loved me too well to sacrifice my happiness for money,"

she said, climbing slowly the steep hill.

"Yet you declare that you are doing so by marrying me," he observed, his eyes fixed upon the ground.

"I am only marrying you because you compel me," she answered, huskily.

"You know that."

"Why do you hate me?" he cried, dismayed. "I have surely done my best to render your life here happy? In the past I admired your grace and your beauty, but because of my poverty I dared not ask the Captain for you. Now that I have the means to give you the luxury which a woman like yourself must need, you spurn my love, and--"

"Your love!" she cried, with a gesture of disgust, her eyes flashing angrily. "Do not speak to me of love. You may tell other women that you love them, but do not lie to me!"

"It is no lie," he answered. She had never spoken so frankly before, and her manner showed a fierce determination which surprised him.

"You have a manner so plausible that you can utter falsehoods so that they appear as gospel truth," she said. "Remember, however, that you and my father were once fellow-adventurers, and that years ago I thoroughly gauged your character and found it exactly as superficial and unprincipled as it is now."

"The past is forgotten," he snapped. "It is useless to throw into my face facts and prejudices which I am striving to live down."

"No," she cried. "The past is not forgotten, otherwise you would not compel me to become your wife. How can you say that the past is buried, when at this moment you hold me beneath your hateful thrall, merely because my face and my figure please you, merely because you desire that I should become your wife?"

"With you at my side I shall, I trust, lead a better life," he said, calmed by her rebuff.

"It is useless to cant in that manner," she exclaimed, turning upon him fiercely. "In you, the man I have always mistrusted as knavish and unscrupulous, I can never place confidence. The mean, shabby, tricks you have served men who have been your friends are in themselves sufficient proof of your utter lack of good-will, and show me that you are dead to all honour. Without confidence there can be no love."

"I have promised before Heaven to make you happy," he answered.

"Ah, no," she said, in a choking voice of bitter reproach. "Speak not of holy things, you, whose heart is so black. If you would make your peace with G.o.d give me back my liberty, my life, before it is too late."

Her face was pale, her lips were dry, and she panted as she spoke.

But they had gained the gate of the villa where they were to call, and pushing it open he held it back with a low bow for her to pa.s.s. Her grey eyes, so full of grief and despair, met his for an instant, and she saw he was inexorable. Then she pa.s.sed in up to the door, and a few minutes later found herself in the salon chatting with her voluble hostess, while Zertho sat with Madame's two smart daughters, both true Parisiennes in manner, dress, and speech.

"We only heard to-day of your engagement to the Prince," Madame Bertholet was saying in French. "We must congratulate you. I'm sure I wish you every happiness."

"Thank you," she said, with a forced smile. "It is extremely good of you."

"And when and where do you marry?"

"In Brussels, in about three weeks," Liane answered, striving to preserve an outward appearance of happiness. It was, however, but a sorry attempt. From the windows of their salon Madame Bertholet and her daughters had noticed the strange imploring look upon Liane's face as they had approached the gate, and had wondered.

Yet when she had entered she had sparkled with fun and vivacity, and it was only the mention of marriage which had disarmed her.

"After Brussels you will, of course, go to your new home in Luxembourg,"

said Madame. "Have you seen it?"

Liane replied in the negative.