Part 43 (1/2)
The windows of the Casino were open, protected by awnings; birds were taking their last flight, before going to bed in some orange or lemon tree. The place was more charming than in the high season; but the face I looked for was not to be seen, and I deserted the Terrace for the Rooms.
I had not been to ”Monte” since the Boer war; and when I had gone through the formalities at the Bureau, and entered the first _salle_, it struck me strangely to find everything exactly as I had left it years ago.
The same heavy stillness, emphasised by the continuous c.h.i.n.k, c.h.i.n.k of gold and silver, and broken only by the announcement of events at different tables: ”_Onze, noir, impair et manque”;--”Rien ne va plus”;--”Zero!_”
The same _onze_; the same _rien n'va plus_; the same _zero_ heralded in the same secretly joyous, outwardly apologetic tone, by the croupiers fortunate enough to produce it. The same croupiers too;--(or do croupiers develop a family likeness of face, of voice, of coat, as the years go c.h.i.n.king zeroly on?). The same players, or their _doppelgangers_; the same pictured nymphs smiling on the ornate walls. But there was no Boy, no Boy's sister; and suddenly it occurred to me that I was foolish to expect him. He was too childlike in appearance to have obtained a ticket of admission to the gambling rooms.
Since it was useless to look for him here, and no other place seemed promising at this hour, there was nothing to do but pa.s.s the moments until time to change for dinner. Accordingly I watched the tables.
Once, like most men of my age, I had been bitten by the roulette fever and had wrestled with ”systems” in their thousands, not so much for the mere ”gamble,” as for the joy of striving to beat the wily Pascal at his own invention.
In those old days the wheel had been like a populous town for me, inhabited by quaint little people, each living in his own snug house; the Little People of Roulette. Not a number on the board but his face was familiar to me; I would have known him if I had met him in the street. There was sly, thin, dark little Dix, always sneaking up on tiptoe when you did not want him, and popping out behind your back.
Business-like, successful, bustling Onze; tactless but honest Douze; treacherous yet fascinating Treize; blundering Seize; graceful, brunette Dix-Sept; and the faithful, friendly Vingtneuf; feminine Rouge; brusque, virile Noir; mean little, underbred Manque, and senile Pa.s.se; priggish Pair with his skittish young wife; the Dozens, _nouveaux-riches_, thinking themselves a cut above the humbler Simple Chances in Roulette Society; the upright, unbending Columns; the raffish Chevaux; the excitable Transversales, and the brilliant Carres; charming on first acquaintance, but fickle as friends; the twin, blind dwarfs, the Coups des Deux; these and many more, down to the wretched, worried Intermittances, ever in a violent hurry to catch a train but never catching it. I could see them all, still; but I saw them pa.s.s with calmness now, for I wanted to find the Boy.
[Ill.u.s.tration]
CHAPTER x.x.xI
The Boy's Sister
”A little thing would make me tell ... how much I lack of a man.”
--SHAKESPEARE.
The palace clock over in Monaco was striking eight as I reached the steps of the Hotel de Paris. Eight had been the hour appointed. Now, here were both the Hour and the Man: but where was the Boy?
I walked into the gay restaurant, with its window-wall, and the long rank of candle-lit tables ready for dinner. Twenty people, perhaps, were dining; but there was no slim figure in short black jacket, Eton collar, and loose silk tie; no curly chestnut head; no blue-star eyes.
Cordially disliking everybody present, I marched down the length of the room, and took a corner table, which was laid for four. On the sparkling snow of the damask cloth burned a bonfire of scarlet geraniums, and two red-shaded wax candles, of the kind which the Boy used to call ”candles with nostrils,” made wavering rose-lights on the white expanse.
I sat down, and an attentive waiter appeared at my elbow, having apparently shot up from the floor like a pantomime demon.
”Monsieur desires dinner for one?” he deferentially enquired.
”I am expecting one or perhaps two friends,” I replied. ”I will wait for them half an hour. If they do not come by the end of that time, I will dine alone.”
”Will Monsieur please to regard the menu?”
”Yes, thanks.”
He put it in my hand with an appetizing bow, which would have been almost as good as an _hors d'oeuvre_ had my mood been appreciative of delicacies. But it was not; neither could I fix my mind upon the ordering of a dinner. My eyes would keep jumping to the gla.s.s door at the far end of the room. ”I want the best dinner the house can serve,”
I said, meanly s.h.i.+fting responsibility. ”Not too long a dinner, but--oh well, you may tell the chef I depend upon his choice.”
”I quite understand, Monsieur. A dinner to please a lady, is it not?”
”Yes. Something to please a lady.” Was there not the Boy's sister to be catered for in case she should come? In thinking of him I must not forget her. But then, how improbable it was that my poor dinner would be tasted by either!
”And for wine, Monsieur?”