Part 36 (1/2)

On hearing this brief colloquy the cohorts of the Beau-Site felt that in Denry they possessed the making of a champion.

There was a disturbing surprise, however, waiting for Denry.

The lift descended, and with a peculiar double action of his arms on the doors, like a pantomime fairy emerging from an enchanted castle, a tall, thin man stepped elegantly out of the lift and approached the company with a certain mincingness. But before he could reach the company several young women had rushed towards him, as though with the intention of committing suicide by hanging themselves from his neck. He was in an evening suit so perfect in detail that it might have sustained comparison with the costume of the head waiter. And he wore an eyegla.s.s in his left eye. It was the eyegla.s.s that made Denry jump. For two seconds he dismissed the notion. But another two seconds of examination showed beyond doubt that this eyegla.s.s was the eyegla.s.s of the train.

And Denry had apprehensions.

”Captain Deverax!” exclaimed several voices.

The manner in which the youthful and the mature fair cl.u.s.tered around this Captain aged forty (and not handsome) was really extraordinary-to the males of the Hotel Beau-Site. Even the little Russian Countess attached herself to him at once. And by reason of her t.i.tle, her social energy, and her personal distinction, she took natural precedence of the others.

”Recognise him?” Denry whispered to his wife.

Nellie nodded. ”He seems rather nice,” she said diffidently.

”Nice!” Denry repeated the adjective. ”The man 's an a.s.s.”

And the majority of the Beau-Site party agreed with Denry's verdict either by word or gesture.

Captain Deverax stared fixedly at Denry; then smiled vaguely and drawled, ”Hullo! How d' do?”

And they shook hands.

”So you know him?” some one murmured to Denry.

”Know him? ... Since infancy.”

The inquirer scented facetiousness, but he was somehow impressed. The remarkable thing was that though he regarded Captain Deverax as a popinjay, Denry could not help feeling a certain slight satisfaction in the fact that they were in some sort acquaintances. Mystery of the human heart. He wished sincerely that he had not, in his conversation with the Captain in the train, talked about previous visits to Switzerland. It was dangerous.

The dance achieved that brightness and joviality which ent.i.tle a dance to call itself a success. The cotillon reached brilliance, owing to the captaincy of Captain Deverax. Several score opprobrious epithets were applied to the Captain in the course of the night, but it was agreed _nemine contradicente_ that, whatever he would have done in front of a Light Brigade at Balaclava, as a leader of cotillons he was terrific.

Many men, however, seemed to argue that if a man who was a man led a cotillon he ought not to lead it too well, on pain of being considered a c.o.xcomb.

At the close, during the hot soup, the worst happened. Denry had known that it would.

Captain Deverax was talking to Nellie, who was respectfully listening, about the scenery, when the Countess came up, plate in hand.

”No! No!” the Countess protested. ”As for me, I hate your mountains.

I was born in the steppe where it is all level-level! Your mountains close me in. I am only here by order of my doctor. Your mountains get on my nerves.” She shrugged her shoulders.

Captain Deverax smiled.

”It is the same with you, isn't it?” he said, turning to Nellie.

”Oh! no!” said Nellie simply.

”But your husband told me the other day that when you and he were in Geneva a couple of years ago, the view of Mont Blanc used to-er-upset you.”

”View of Mont Blanc?” Nellie stammered.

Everybody was aware that she and Denry had never been in Switzerland before, and that their marriage was indeed less than a month old.