Part 15 (1/2)

And that evening he left the steamer, and took a room for a month at the Luxor Hotel. And that evening he cast the skin of his former self, and emerged, with fluttering wings, from the chrysalis of his ident.i.ty. He was a bachelor, aged twenty-eight, and he was travelling alone; so there was no critical eye to mark the change in him, no chattering tongue to express surprise at his pleasant abandonment to the follies which make up the lives of sensitive artists and refined sensualists who can differentiate between the promenade of the ”Empire,” and the garden of love. As he stepped out into the Arab-haunted village that night, after dinner, Bellairs breathed a sigh of relief. For a month he would let himself go. Where to? He bent his steps towards the river, the Nile that is the pulsing blood in the veins of Egypt. Moored in the shadow of its brown banks lay a string of bright-eyed dahabeeyahs. From more than one of them came music. Bellairs, his cigarette his only companion, strolled slowly along listening idly in a pleasant dream. A woman's voice sang, asking ”Ninon” what was her scheme of life. A man beat out his soul at the feet of ”Medje.” And, upon the deck of the last dahabeeyah, a woman played a fantastic mazurka. Bellairs was fond of music, and her performance was so clever, so full of nuances, understanding, wild pa.s.sion, that he stood still to remark it more closely.

”She has known many things, good and evil,” he thought, as his mind noted the intellect that spoke in the changes of time, the regret and the gaiety that the touch demonstrated so surely and easily, as the mood of the composition changed. The music ceased.

”Betty,” a woman's voice said, in English, but with a slight French accent, ”I want to see the stars. This awning hides them. Come for a little walk.”

”Yes; I want to see the stars too, and the awning does hide them,” a girl's voice answered. ”Do let us take a little walk.”

Bellairs smiled, as he said to himself, ”The first voice is the voice of the musician, and the second voice seems to be its echo.” He was still standing on the bank when the two women stepped upon the gangway to the sh.o.r.e and climbed to the narrow path.

As they pa.s.sed him by they glanced at him rather curiously. One was a woman of about thirty, dark, with a pale, strong-featured face. The other was a fair, aristocratic-looking girl, not more than seventeen.

”She is the echo,” Bellairs thought. ”Rather a sweet one.” Then, at a distance, he followed them, and presently found them sitting together in the garden of the Hotel. He sat down not far off. A man, whom he knew slightly, spoke to them, and afterwards crossed to him.

”That lady plays very cleverly,” Bellairs said.

”Mademoiselle Leroux, you mean--yes. You know her?”

”Not at all. I only heard her from the river bank.”

”She is travelling with Lord Braydon. She is a great friend of Lady Betty Lambe, his daughter.”

”That pretty girl?”

”Yes. Shall I introduce you?”

”I should be delighted.”

A moment later Bellairs was sitting with the two ladies and talking of Egypt. It seemed to him that they were the first nurses to dandle his new baby-nature, this nature which Egypt had given to him, and which only to-night he had definitely accepted. Perhaps this fact quickly cemented their acquaintance. At any rate, a distinct friends.h.i.+p began to walk in their conversation, and Bellairs found himself listening to Mdlle. Leroux, and looking at Lady Betty, with a great deal of interest and of admiration. Presently the former said:--

”I knew you would be introduced to us to-night.”

Bellairs was surprised.

”When?” he asked.

”When we pa.s.sed you just now on the bank of the Nile.”

”I knew we should too,” said Lady Betty.

”You must be very intuitive,” said Bellairs.

”Women generally are,” remarked Mdlle. Leroux.

”Yes. Do your intuitions tell you whether our acquaintance will be long and agreeable?”

”Perhaps--but I never prophesy.”

”Why?”

”Because I am always right.”