CHAPTER XXIII
As Sylvia went slowly and wearily up to her room a sudden horror ofLacville swept over her excited brain.
For the first time since she had been in the Villa du Lac, she locked thedoor of her bed-room and sat down in the darkness.
She was overwhelmed with feelings of humiliation and pain. She toldherself with bitter self-scorn that Paul de Virieu cared nothing for her.If he had cared ever so little he surely would never have done what hehad done to-night?
But such thoughts were futile, and soon she rose and turned on theelectric light. Then she sat down at a little writing-table which hadbeen thoughtfully provided for her by M. Polperro, and hurriedly, withfeverish eagerness, wrote a note.
Dear Count de Virieu--
I am very tired to-night, and I do not feel as if I should be well enough to ride to-morrow.--Yours sincerely,
Sylvia Bailey.
That was all, but it was enough. Hitherto she had evidently been--hatefulthought--what the matrons of Market Dalling called "coming on" in hermanner to Count Paul; henceforth she would be cold and distant to him.
She put her note into an envelope, addressed it, and went downstairsagain. It was very late, but M. Polperro was still up. The landlord neverwent to bed till each one of his clients was safe indoors.
"Will you kindly see that the Comte de Virieu gets this to-night?" shesaid briefly. And then, as the little man looked at her with somesurprise, "It is to tell the Count that I cannot ride to-morrow morning.It is late, and I am very tired; sleepy, too, after the long motoringexpedition I took this afternoon!" She tried to smile.
M. Polperro bowed.
"Certainly, Madame. The Count shall have this note the moment he returnsfrom the Casino. He will not be long now."
But the promises of Southerners are pie-crust. Doubtless M. Polperromeant the Count to have the note that night, but he put it aside andforgot all about it.
Sylvia had a broken night, and she was still sleeping heavily when shewas wakened by the now familiar sound of the horses being brought intothe courtyard. She jumped out of bed and peeped through an opening inthe closed curtains.
It was a beautiful morning. The waters of the lake dimpled in the sun.A door opened, and Sylvia heard voices. Then Count Paul was going ridingafter all, and by himself? Sylvia felt a pang of unreasoning anger andregret.
Paul de Virieu and M. Polperro were standing side by side; suddenly shesaw the hotel-keeper hand the Count, with a gesture of excuse, the noteshe had written the night before. Count Paul read it through, then he putit back in its envelope, and placed it in the breast pocket of his coat.
He did not send the horses away, as Sylvia in her heart had rather hopedhe would do, but he said a word to M. Polperro, who ran into the Villaand returned a moment later with something which he handed, with adeferential bow to the Count.
It was a cardcase, and Paul de Virieu scribbled something on a card andgave it to M. Polperro. A minute later he had ridden out of the gates.
Sylvia moved away from the window, but she was in no mood to go back tobed. She felt restless, excited, sorry that she had given up her ride.
When at last her tea was brought in, she saw the Count's card lying onthe tray:
Madame--
I regret very much to hear that you are not well--so ran his pencilled words--but I trust you will be able to come down this morning, for I have a message to give you from my sister.
Believe me, Madame, of all your servants the most devoted.
Paul de Virieu.
They met in the garden--the garden which they had so often had tothemselves during their short happy mornings; and, guided by aninstinctive longing for solitude, and for being out of sight and outof mind of those about them, they made their way towards the arch inthe wall which led to the _potager_.
It was just ten o'clock, and the gardeners were leaving off work for anhour; they had earned their rest, for their work begins each summer dayat sunrise. It was therefore through a sweet-smelling, solitarywilderness that Count Paul guided his companion.
They walked along the narrow paths edged with fragrant herbs till theycame to the extreme end of the kitchen-garden, and then--
"Shall we go into the orangery?" he asked abruptly.
Sylvia nodded. These were the first words he had uttered since his short"Good morning. I hope, Madame, you are feeling better?"
He stepped aside to allow her to go first into the large,finely-proportioned building, which was so charming a survival ofeighteenth-century taste. The orangery was cool, fragrant, deserted;remote indeed from all that Lacville stands for in this ugly, utilitarianworld.
"Won't you sit down?" he said slowly. And then, as if echoing hiscompanion's thoughts, "It seems a long, long time since we were firstin the orangery, Madame--"
"--When you asked me so earnestly to leave Lacville," said Sylvia, tryingto speak lightly. She sat down on the circular stone seat, and, as he haddone on that remembered morning when they were still strangers, he tookhis place at the other end of it.
"Well?" he said, looking at her fixedly. "Well, you see I came back afterall!"
Sylvia made no answer.
"I ought not to have done so. It was weak of me." He did not look at heras he spoke; he was tracing imaginary patterns on the stone floor.
"I came back," he concluded, in a low, bitter tone, "because I could notstay any longer away from you."
And still Sylvia remained silent.
"Do you not believe that?" he asked, rather roughly.
And then at last she looked up and spoke.
"I think you imagine that to be the case," she said, "but I am sure thatit is not I, alone, who brought you back to Lacville."
"And yet it is you--you alone!" he exclaimed and he jumped up and cameand stood before her.
"God knows I do not wish to deceive you. Perhaps, if I had not come backhere, I should in time--not at once, Madame,--have gone somewhere else,where I could enjoy the only thing in life which had come to be worthwhile living for. But it was you--you alone--that brought me back here,to Lacville!"
"Why did you go straight to the Casino?" she faltered. "And why?--oh, whydid you risk all that money?"
He shrugged his shoulders.
"Because I am a fool!" he answered, bitterly--"a fool, and what theEnglish rightly call 'a dog in the manger!' I ought to rejoice when Isee you with that excellent fellow, Mr. Chester--and as your friend," hestopped short and then ended his sentence with the words, "I ought to behappy to know that you will have so excellent a husband!"
Sylvia also got up.
"You are quite mistaken," she said, coldly. "I shall never marry Mr.Chester."
"I regret to hear you say that," said Count Paul, seriously. "A womanshould not live alone, especially a woman who is young and beautiful,and--and who has money."
Sylvia shook her head. She was angry--more hurt and angry than she hadever felt before in her life. She told herself passionately that theComte de Virieu was refusing that which had not been offered to him.
"You are very kind," she answered, lightly. "But I have managed verywell up to now, and I think I shall go on managing very well. You neednot trouble yourself about the matter, Count Paul. Mr. Chester and Ithoroughly understand one another--" She waited, and gently she added,"I wish I could understand you--"
"I wish I understood myself," he said sombrely. "But there is one thingthat I believe myself incapable of doing. Whatever my feeling, nay,whatever my love, for a woman, I would never do so infamous a thing as totry and persuade her to join her life to mine. I know too well to what Ishould be exposing her--to what possible misery, nay, to what probabledegradation! After all, a man is free to go to the devil alone--but hehas no right to drag a woman there with him!"
His voice had sunk to a hoarse whisper, and he was gazing into Sylvia'spale face with an anguished look of questioning and of pleading pain.
"I think that is true, Count Paul." Sylvia heard herself utter
ing gently,composedly, the words which meant at once so much and so little to themboth. "It is a pity that all men do not feel about this as you do," sheconcluded mechanically.
"I felt sure you would agree with me," he answered slowly.
"Ought we not to be going back to the villa? I am expecting Mr. Chesterto lunch, and though I know it is quite early, he has got into the way,these last few days, of coming early."
Her words stung him in his turn.
"Stop!" he said roughly. "Do not go yet, Mrs. Bailey." He mutteredbetween his teeth, "Mr. Chester's turn will come!" And then aloud, "Isthis to be the end of everything--the end of our--our friendship? I shallleave Lacville to-night for I do not care to stay on here after you havetaunted me with having come back to see you!"
Sylvia gave a little cry of protest.
"How unkind you are, Count Paul!" She still tried to speak lightly, butthe tears were now rolling down her cheeks--and then in a moment shefound herself in Paul de Virieu's arms. She felt his heart beatingagainst her breast.
"Oh, my darling!" he whispered brokenly, in French, "my darling, how Ilove you!"
"But if you love me," she said piteously, "what does anything elsematter?"
Her hand had sought his hand. He grasped it for a moment and then let itgo.
"It is because I love you--because I love you more than I love myselfthat I give you up," he said, but, being human, he did not give her upthere and then. Instead, he drew her closer to him, and his lips soughtand found her sweet, tremulous mouth.
* * * * *
And Chester? Chester that morning for the first time in his well-balancedlife felt not only ill but horribly depressed. He had come back to thePension Malfait the night before feeling quite well, and as cheerful ashis disapproval of Sylvia Bailey's proceedings at the Casino allowed himto be. And while thoroughly disapproving, he had yet--such being humannature--been glad that Sylvia had won and not lost!
The Wachners had offered to drive him back to his pension, and he hadaccepted, for it was very late, and Madame Wachner, in spite of herFritz's losses, had insisted on taking a carriage home.
And then, though he had begun by going to sleep, Chester had waked at theend of an hour to feel himself encompassed, environed, oppressed by the_perception_--it was far more than a sensation--that he was no longeralone.
He sat up in bed and struck a match, at once longing and fearing to seea form,--the semblance of a human being--rise out of the darkness.
But all he saw, when he had lighted the candle which stood on the tableby his bed, was the barely furnished room which, even in this poor andwavering light, had so cheerful and commonplace an appearance.
Owing no doubt to his excellent physical condition, as well as to hisgood conscience, Chester was a fearless man. A week ago he would havelaughed to scorn the notion that the dead ever revisit the earth, as somany of us believe they do, but the four nights he had spent at thePension Malfait, had shaken his conviction that "dead men rise up never."
Most reluctantly he had come to the conclusion that the Pension Malfaitwas haunted.
And the feeling of unease did not vanish even after he had taken his bathin the queer bath-room, of which the Malfaits were so proud, or later,when he had eaten the excellent breakfast provided for him. On thecontrary, the thought of going up to his bed-room, even in broaddaylight, filled him with a kind of shrinking fear.
He told himself angrily that this kind of thing could not go on. Thesleepless nights made him ill--he who never was ill; also he was losingprecious days of his short holiday, while doing no good to himself and nogood to Sylvia.
Sending for the hotel-keeper, he curtly told him that he meant to leaveLacville that evening.
M. Malfait expressed much sorrow and regret. Was M'sieur not comfortable?Was there anything he could do to prolong his English guest's stay?
No, M'sieur had every reason to be satisfied, but--but had M. Malfaitever had any complaints of noises in the bed-room occupied by his Englishguest?
The Frenchman's surprise and discomfiture seemed quite sincere; butChester, looking into his face, suspected that the wondering protests,the assertion that this particular bed-room was the quietest in thehouse, were not sincere. In this, however he wronged poor M. Malfait.
Chester went upstairs and packed. There seemed to be a kind of finalityin the act. If she knew he was ready to start that night, Sylvia wouldnot be able to persuade him to stay on, as she probably would try to do.
At the Villa du Lac he was greeted with, "Madame Bailey is in the gardenwith the Comte de Virieu"--and he thought he saw a twinkle in merrylittle M. Polperro's eyes.
Poor Sylvia! Poor, foolish, wilful Sylvia! Was it conceivable that afterwhat she had seen the night before she still liked, she still respected,that mad French gambler?
He looked over the wide lawn; no, there was no sign of Sylvia and theCount. Then, all at once, coming through a door which gave access, as heknew, to the big kitchen-garden of the villa, he saw Mrs. Bailey'sgraceful figure; a few steps behind her walked Count Paul.
Chester hurried towards them. How odd they both looked--and how ill atease! The Comte de Virieu looked wretched, preoccupied, and gloomy--aswell he might do, considering the large sum of money he had lost lastnight. As for Sylvia--yes, there could be no doubt about it--she had beencrying! When she saw Chester coming towards her, she instinctively tiltedher garden hat over her face to hide her reddened eyelids. He felt atonce sorry for, and angry with, her.
"I came early in order to tell you," he said abruptly, "that I find Imust leave Lacville to-day! The man whom I am expecting to join me inSwitzerland is getting impatient, so I've given notice to the PensionMalfait--in fact, I've already packed."
Sylvia gave him a listless glance, and made no comment on his news.
Chester felt rather nettled. "You, I suppose, will be staying on here forsome time?" he said.
"I don't know," she answered in a low voice. "I haven't made up my mindhow long I shall stay here."
"I also am leaving Lacville," said the Comte de Virieu.
And then, as he saw, or fancied he saw, a satirical expression pass overthe Englishman's face, he added rather haughtily:
"Strange to say, my luck turned last night--I admit I did not deserveit--and I left off with a good deal to the good. However, I feel I haveplayed enough for a while, and, as I have been telling Mrs. Bailey, Ithink it would do me good to go away. In fact"--and then Count Paul gavean odd little laugh--"I also am going to Switzerland! In old days I was amember of our Alpine Club."
Chester made a sudden resolve, and, what was rare in one soconstitutionally prudent, acted on it at once.
"If you are really going to Switzerland," he said quietly, "then whyshould we not travel together? I meant to go to-night, but if you preferto wait till to-morrow, Count, I can alter my arrangements."
The Comte de Virieu remained silent for what seemed to the two waitingfor his answer a very long time.
"This evening will suit me just as well as to-morrow," he said at last.
He did not look at Sylvia. He had not looked her way since Chester hadjoined them. With a hand that shook a little he took his cigarette-caseout of his pocket, and held it out to the other man.
The die was cast. So be it. Chester, prig though he might be, was rightin his wish to remove Sylvia from his, Paul de Virieu's, company. TheEnglishman was more right than he would ever know.
How amazed Chester would have been had he been able to see straight intoPaul de Virieu's heart! Had he divined the other's almost unendurabletemptation to take Sylvia Bailey at her word, to impose on her patheticignorance of life, to allow her to become a gambler's wife.
Had the woman he loved been penniless, the Comte de Virieu would probablyhave yielded to the temptation which now came in the subtle garb ofjealousy--keen, poisoned-fanged jealousy of this fine looking youngEnglishman who stood before them both.
Would Sylvia ever cling to this man as she had c
lung to him--would sheever allow Chester to kiss her as she had allowed Paul to kiss her, andthat after he had released the hand she had laid in his?
But alas! there are kisses and kisses--clingings and clingings. Chester,so the Frenchman with his wide disillusioned knowledge of life felt onlytoo sure, would win Sylvia in time.
"Shall we go in and find out the time of the Swiss express?" he asked theother man, "or perhaps you have already decided on a train?"
"No, I haven't looked one out yet."
They strolled off together towards the house, and Sylvia walked blindlyon to the grass and sat down on one of the rocking-chairs of which M.Polperro was so proud.
She looked after the two men with a sense of oppressed bewilderment. Thenthey were both going away--both going to leave her?
After to-day--how strange, how utterly unnatural the parting seemed--shewould probably never see Paul de Virieu again.
* * * * *
The day went like a dream--a fantastic, unreal dream.
Sylvia did not see Count Paul again alone. She and Chester went a drivein the afternoon--the expedition had been arranged the day before withthe Wachners, and there seemed no valid reason why it should be put off.
And then Madame Wachner with her usual impulsive good nature, on hearingthat both Chester and the Comte de Virieu were going away, warmly invitedSylvia to supper at the Chalet des Muguets for that same night, andSylvia listlessly accepted. She did not care what she did or where shewent.
At last came the moment of parting.
"I'll go and see you off at the station," she said, and Chester, rathersurprised, raised one or two objections. "I'm determined to come," shecried angrily. "What a pity it is, Bill, that you always try and manageother people's business for them!"
And she did go to the station--only to be sorry for it afterwards.
Paul de Virieu, holding her hand tightly clasped in his for the lasttime, had become frightfully pale, and as she made her way back to theCasino, where the Wachners were actually waiting for her, Sylvia washaunted by his reproachful, despairing eyes.
The Chink in the Armour Page 23
