Part 45 (2/2)
”You say you have needed me very much?”
”Oh, have I not?” exclaimed Giraud; and the very weariness of his voice would have convinced her, had she needed conviction. It seemed to express the dilatory pa.s.sage of the years during which he had looked for her coming, and had looked in vain.
”Well, then, listen to me,” she went on. ”I was once told that to be needed by those whom one needs is a great comfort. I thought of the saying at the time, and I thought that it was a true one.
Afterwards”--she began to speak slowly, carefully selecting her words--”it happened that in my own experience I proved it to be true--at all events, for me. Is it true for you also? Think well. If it is not true I will go away as you bade me at the beginning; but if it is true--why, then I may be of some little help to you, and you will be certainly a great help to me; for I need you very surely.”
M. Giraud looked at her in silence for a little while. Then he answered her with simplicity, and so, for the first time during this interview, wore the proper dignity of a man.
”Yes, I will help you,” he said. ”What can I do?”
She held out the letter which she had written to Lionel Callon. She bade him carry it with the best speed he could to its destination.
”Lose no time!” she implored. ”I am not sure, but it may be that one man's life, and the happiness of a man and a woman besides, all hang upon its quick receipt.”
M. Giraud took his hat from the wall and went to the door. At the door he paused, and standing thus, with an averted face, he said in a whisper, recalling the words she had lately spoken--
”There is one, then, whom you need? You are no longer lonely in your thoughts? I should like to know.”
”Yes,” Pamela answered gently: ”I am no longer lonely in my thoughts.”
”And you are happy?” he continued. ”You were not happy when you were at Roquebrune last. I should like to know that you, at all events, are happy now.”
”Yes,” said Pamela. In the presence of his distress she rather shrank from acknowledging the change which had come over her. It seemed cruel; yet he clearly wished to know. He clearly would be the happier for knowing. ”Yes,” she said; ”I am happy.”
”I am very glad,” said M. Giraud, in a low voice; ”I am very glad.”
And he went rather quickly out by the door.
CHAPTER x.x.xI
AT THE RESeRVE
Tony Stretton walked quickly down from the Villa Pontignard to the station. There he learned that an hour must elapse before a train to Eze was due. Inaction was at this moment intolerable to him. Even though he should get to Eze not a minute the sooner, he must hurry upon his way. He could not wait upon this platform for an hour, suspense so tortured him. He went out upon the road and began to run.
He ran very quickly. The road turned sharply round the shoulder of a hill, and Stretton saw in front of him the lights of Monte Carlo. They were bunched in great white cl.u.s.ters, they were strung in festoons in the square and the streets. They made a golden crescent about the dark, quiet waters of the bay. Looking down from this shoulder of the hill upon the town at such an hour one seems to be looking upon a town of fairyland; one expects a sweet and delicate music to float upwards from its houses and charm the ears. Tony's one thought was that beyond that place of lights lay Eze. He came to an electric tram which was on point of starting. He entered it and it rattled him quickly down the hill.
At Monte Carlo he sprang into the first carriage which he saw waiting for a fare, and bade the coachman drive him quickly out to Eze. The night had come; above his head the stars shone very brightly from a dark sky of velvet. The carriage pa.s.sed out of the town; the villas grew more scarce; the open road glimmered ahead of him a riband of white; the sea murmured languorously upon the sh.o.r.e.
At this moment, in the lonely restaurant towards which Tony was driving in such haste, Lionel Callon and Millie Stretton were sitting down to dinner. The table was laid in the small, daintily furnished room which opened on to the terrace. The windows stood wide, and the lazy murmur of the waves entered in. The white cloth shone with silver, a great bowl of roses stood in the centre and delicately perfumed the air. Thither Millie had come in fulfilment of that promise made on a midnight of early spring in Regent's Park. The colour burned prettily on her cheeks, she had dressed herself in a pink gown of lace, jewels shone on her arms and at her neck. She was, perhaps, a little feverish in her gaiety, her laughter was perhaps a little over loud. Indeed, every now and then her heart sank in fear within her, and she wished herself far away. But here Lionel Callon was at his ease. He knew the methods by which victory was to be won.
There was no suggestion of triumph in his manner. He was considerate and most deferential, and with no more than a hint of pa.s.sion in the deference.
”You have come,” he said. His eyes rested upon hers, and he left them to express his grat.i.tude. He raised her hand to his lips and gently took the cloak from her shoulders. ”You have had a long journey. But you are not tired.” He placed her chair for her at the table and sat opposite. He saw that she was uneasy. He spoke no word which might alarm her.
Meanwhile Tony was drawing nearer. He reached the hotel at Eze, and drove through its garden to the door.
”Is Lady Stretton in the hotel?” he asked.
<script>