Part 30 (2/2)

He thought out the matter calmly over a pipe at his hotel, and at last decided upon a bold course. She had given him her address, he would, therefore, seek her that afternoon.

In pursuance of his plan he alighted about four o'clock from the train at Monaco Station and inquired his way to the Villa Fortunee. Following the directions of a waiter at the Hotel des Negociants, he walked down the wide read to the foot of the great rock whereon the town is situated, then ascended by the broad footway, so steep that no vehicles can get up, and pa.s.sing through the narrow arches of the fort, found himself at last upon the ramparts, in front of the square Moorish-looking palace of the Prince. Around the small square were mounted several antiquated cannon, while near them were formidable-looking piles of heavy shot which are carefully dusted each day, and about the tiny review ground there lounged several gaudily-attired soldiers in light blue uniforms, lolling upon the walls smoking cigarettes. The Princ.i.p.ality is a small one, but it makes a brave show, even though its defences remind one of comic opera, and its valiant soldiers have never smelt any other powder save that of the noon-day gun. The silence of the siesta was still upon the little place, for the afternoon was blazing hot. On one side of the square the sentry at the Palace-gate leaned upon his rifle half-asleep, while on the other the fireman sat upon the form outside the engine-house, and with his hands thrust deep in his trousers-pockets moodily watched the slowly-moving hands of the clock in its square, white castellated tower.

George stood for a few moments in the centre of the clean, carefully-swept square, the centre of one of the tiniest governments in the world, then making further inquiry of the sleepy fireman, was directed along the ramparts until he found himself before a fine, square, flat-roofed house, with handsome dead white front, which, facing due south and situated high up on the summit of that bold rock, commanded a magnificent view of Cap Martin, the Italian coast beyond, and the open Mediterranean. Shut off from the ramparts by a handsome iron railing, the garden in front was filled with high palms, fruitful oranges, variegated aloes and a wealth of beautiful flowers, while upon a marble plate the words ”Villa Fortunee” were inscribed in gilt letters. The closed sun-shutters were painted white, like the house, and about the exterior of the place was an air of prosperity which the young Englishman did not fail to notice.

Its situation was certainly unique. Deep below, on the great brown rocks descending sheer into the sea, the long waves lashed themselves into white foam, while away sea-ward the water was a brilliant blue which, however, was losing its colour each moment as the shadows lengthened. Within sight of gay, dazzling Monte Carlo, with all her pleasures and flaunting vices, all her fascinating beauty and hideous tragedy, the house was nevertheless quiet and eminently respectable.

For an instant he paused to glance at the beautiful view of sea-coast and mountain, then entering the gate, rang the bell.

An Italian man-servant opened the door and took his card, and a few moments later he was ushered into the handsome salon, resplendent with gilt and statuary, where Mariette Lepage had evidently been dozing. The jalousies of the three long windows were closed; the room, perfumed by great bowls of violets, was delightfully cool; and the softly-tempered light pleasant and restful after the white glare outside.

”This is an unexpected pleasure,” Mariette exclaimed in English, rising to allow her hand to linger for an instant in his, then sinking back with a slight yawn upon her silken couch. In the half-light, as she reclined in graceful abandon upon the divan, her head thrown back upon a great cus.h.i.+on of rose silk, she looked much younger than she really was.

George had guessed her age at thirty-five when she had called at his hotel, but in that dimly-lit room, with her veil removed and attired in a thin light-coloured gown she looked quite ten years younger, and certainly her face was eminently handsome.

She stretched out her tiny foot, neat in its silk stocking and patent leather shoe, with an air of coquetry, and in doing so displayed either by accident or design that _soupcon_ of _lingerie_ which is no indiscretion in a Frenchwoman.

He had taken a seat near her, and was apologising for calling during her siesta.

”No, no,” she exclaimed, with a light laugh. ”I am extremely glad you've come. I retire so late at night that I generally find an afternoon doze beneficial. We women suffer from nerves and other such things of which you men know nothing.”

”Fortunately for us,” he observed. ”But then we are liable to a malady of the heart of far greater severity than that to which your s.e.x is subject. Women's hearts are seldom broken; men's often are. A woman can forget as easily as a child forgets; but the remembrance of a face, of a voice, of a pair of eyes, to him brighter and clearer than all others, is impressed indelibly upon a man's memory. Every woman from the moment she enters her teens is, I regret to say, a coquette at heart. In the game of love the chances are all against the man.”

”Why are you so pessimistic?” she asked, raising herself upon her elbow and looking at him amused. ”All women are not heartless. Some there are who remember, and although evil and vicious themselves, are self-denying towards others.”

”Yes,” he answered. ”A few--a very few.”

”Of course you must be forgiven for speaking thus,” she said, in a soft, pleasant tone. ”Your choice of a woman has been an exceedingly unhappy one.”

”Why?” he exclaimed, with quick suspicion. ”What allegation do you make against Liane?”

”I make no allegation, whatever, m'sieur,” she answered, with a smile.

”It was not in that sense my words were intended. I meant to convey that your love has only brought unhappiness to you both.”

”Unfortunately it has,” he sighed. ”In vain have I striven to seek some means in which to a.s.sist Liane to break asunder the tie which binds her to Prince Zertho, but she will not explain its nature, because she says she fears to do so.”

”I am scarcely surprised,” she answered. ”Her terror lest the true facts should be disclosed is but natural.”

”Why?” he inquired, hastily.

But she shook her head, saying: ”Am I not striving my utmost to a.s.sist her? Is it therefore to be supposed that I shall explain facts which she desires should remain secret? The object of your present visit is surely not to endeavour to entrap me into telling you facts which, for the present, will not bear the light? Rather let us come to some understanding whereby our interests may be mutual.”

”It was for that reason I have called,” he said, in a dry, serious tone.

Her gaze met his, and he thought in that half-light he detected in her dark, brilliant eyes a keen look of suspicion.

”I am all attention,” she answered, pleasantly, moving slightly, so that she faced him.

”Well, mine is a curious errand,” he began, earnestly, bending towards her, his elbows on his knees. ”There is no reason, as far as I'm aware, why, if you are really Liane's friend, we should not be perfectly frank with one another. First, I must ask you one question--a strange one you will no doubt regard it. But it is necessary that I should receive an answer before I proceed. Did you ever live in Paris--and where?”

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