Part 35 (2/2)
Others sit and ruin themselves by unwise play, while I sit beside them and prosper. Because of that, I am pointed out by men and women as a kind of extraordinary species, and shunned by all save the professional players to whom you and I belong. But,” she added, gazing meaningly at Liane, ”you know my past as well as I know yours.”
The words caused her to turn pale as death, while her breath came and went quickly. She was in momentary dread lest a single word of the terrible truth she was striving to hide should involuntarily escape her.
”Yes,” Liane said, ”I knew you well when I went daily to the Casino, and have often envied you, for while my father lost and lost you invariably won and crammed handsful of notes into your capacious purse. At first I envied you, but soon I grew to hate you.”
”You hated me, because even into my hardened heart love had found its way,” she said reproachfully.
”I hated you because I knew that you loved only gold. I had seen sufficient of you to know that you had no higher thought than of the chances of the red or the black. You had been aptly nicknamed `The Golden Hand.'”
”And I, too, envied you,” the other said. ”I envied you your grace and your beauty; yet often I felt sorry for you. You seemed so jaded and world-weary, although so young, that it was a matter of surprise that they gave you your carte at the Bureau.”
”Now, strangely enough, we are rivals,” Liane observed.
”Only because you are beneath the thrall of one who holds you in his power,” Mariette answered. ”You love each other so fervently that I could never be your rival, even if you were free.”
”But, alas! I am not free,” she said, in deep despondency, her eyes downcast, her head resting upon her hand.
”True,” said the other, shrugging her shoulders. ”Circ.u.mstances have combined to weave about you a web in which you have become enmeshed.
You are held by bonds which, alone and una.s.sisted, you cannot break asunder.”
Liane, overcome with emotion she could no longer restrain, covered her face with her hands and burst into a torrent of tears. In an instant her lover was beside her, stroking her hair fondly, uttering words of sympathy and tenderness, and endeavouring to console her.
Mariette Lepage sat erect, motionless, silent, watching them.
”Ah!” she said slowly at length, ”I know how fondly you love each other.
I have myself experienced the same grief, the same bitterness as that which is rending your hearts at this moment, even though I am believed to be devoid of every pa.s.sion, of every sentiment, and of every womanly feeling.”
”Let me go!” Liane exclaimed, in a voice broken by sobs, rising unsteadily from her chair. ”I--I cannot bear it.”
”No, remain,” the woman said in a firm tone, a trifle harsher than before. ”I asked you here to-day because I wished to speak to you. I invited the man you love, because it is but just that he should hear what I have to say.”
”Ah!” she sobbed bitterly. ”You will expose me--you who have only just declared that you are my friend!”
”Be patient,” the other answered. ”I know your fear. You dread that I shall tell a truth which you dare not face.”
She hung her head, sinking back rigidly into her chair with lips compressed. George stood watching her, like a man in a dream. He saw her crushed and hopeless beneath the terrible load upon her conscience, held speechless by some all-consuming terror, trembling like an aspen because she knew this woman intended to divulge her secret.
With all his soul he loved her, yet in those painful moments the gulf seemed to widen between them. Her white haggard face told him of the torture that racked her mind.
”Speak, Liane,” he cried in a low intense tone. ”What is it you fear?
Surely the truth may be uttered?”
”No, no!” she cried wildly, struggling to her feet. ”No, let me leave before she tells you. I knew instinctively that, after all, she was not my friend.”
”Hear me before you judge,” Mariette exclaimed firmly.
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