The Enemies of Women (Los enemigos de la mujer)

by Vicente Blasco Ibáñez

  CHAPTER VI

  One Sunday, as he got out of bed, the Prince felt like singing. Perhapshe was unconsciously following the example of some birds, which,deceived by the Spring-like warmth of a midwinter's day, had beenwarbling in the eaves of Villa Sirena since sunrise.

  He looked out of his bedroom window. The Mediterranean, without a singlesail, stretched away in far-off undulations, to where it met the sky.The gulls were wheeling in circles, continually drooping into the water,folding their wings, and letting themselves be carried along by thewaves. The sandy depths, stirred by the swells, gave the blue sea alighter shade, which attained, along the shore, an opalescent hue, likethat of absinthe. Around the promontory, white luminous foam wasconstantly being churned among the projecting rocks of the reefs.

  The Prince heard voices above him. Castro and Spadoni were talking fromwindow to window. The mysterious call of the early morning beauty hadcaused them to jump out of bed. They were admiring the sky, which didnot have a trace of mist to dim the brightness of its farthest reaches.The mountains stood out in extraordinary relief: they seemed larger andnearer. Above Cap-Martin, the Italian Alps descended to the sea, theiroutlying buttress, at the water's edge, white with the frontier towns:Vintimiglia and Bordighera.

  Through some freak of the atmosphere, a dense, elongated cloud, like asnow-covered island, was floating directly overhead in the clear sky.Its whiteness seemed to radiate an inner light.

  "I recognize it," Atilio said with a tone of conviction to the musician,who did not seem to tire of looking at it. "I have seen it often. Whenthe day turns out too bright, the Directors of the Casino are afraidthat the patrons may be bored by so much sunlight, and the vast expanseof azure: blue sea and blue sky. 'Have the big cloud brought out,' theyorder over the telephone. You must have noticed that that cloud alwaysappears from behind the mountains. That's where the Casino has itsstorehouses. They don't neglect details here when it comes toentertaining their patrons."

  Michael heard two exclamations: one of surprise and the other ofindignation. Next he heard the sound of a window suddenly closed. Thepianist, not in a mood for joking at so early an hour, was going back tobed, to sleep until lunch time.

  The Prince hurried through his toilet. He felt the need of getting outand going somewhere, as though his gardens seemed too small for him. Inthe distance the bells of Monte Carlo were ringing, and still fartheroff those of Monaco were replying; and the merry pealing of the chimescaused the clear brittle air to vibrate like a crystal glass.

  He went down stairs slowly, trying not to make any noise, and when hereached the gate he breathed freely. He had not met any of hiscompanions, not even the Colonel. As though attracted by the Sundaymorning atmosphere of gaiety which, as the afternoon wears on, changesto tiresome ennui, he decided to walk to the city alone.

  Outside the gate, a girl was waiting for the street car. She was veryyoung; but her feet slanted at a sharp angle on her high-heeled shoes.Her skirt, falling scarcely below her knees, showed her well-roundedcalves. The finely woven stockings revealed the whiteness of her flesh.Prominent against the salmon colored silk sweater, was a necklace oflarge imitation amber beads. Her hair, cut short just below the ears,fell smoothly from underneath a jaunty velvet tam o'shanter of gracefulline. The air of profound respect with which she spoke to him made himrecognize her. It was the gardener's daughter. But at the same time shelooked at him in a sly way with ill-concealed curiosity, as though hereyes made a distinction between the master and the man whom women adoredand of whom she had heard so many things.

  The Prince went on, after speaking to her as he would have to a younglady of his own social rank. He was gay that morning, and he laughedinwardly as he thought how later on that little bundle of mischief andambition would keep men busy. Then he thought of Don Marcos, and whatAtilio had told him. Poor Colonel! Imagine a person, at his age, tryingto tame a young wildcat!

  He walked lightly, with a springy step, in the direction of Monte Carlo.He passed the villas and the gardens as though contact with the groundhad given his step fresh vigor, and as though the Spring-like air hadabrogated to some extent the laws of gravity.

  When he reached the city he stopped in front of the steps of San CarlosChurch. Through the door he could see the twinkling tapers, smell theodor of flowers, and hear the droning of the organ, and the voices ofyoung girls singing. He felt like a boy once more, buoyant and fresh asthe morning, and had an impulse to follow the various families, in theirSunday best, who were ascending the steps. He was a Catholic through hisfather, a member of the Greek church through his mother, and nothing byhis own inclination. Suddenly he felt a certain repugnance for thecave-like darkness, laden with perfumes, and dotted with lights. So hewent on, breathing the open air with delight.

  "Oh, your Ladyship! Good morning!"

  A long, thin female hand shook his with masculine vigor. The brassbuttons of her khaki colored uniform, like that of an English soldier,were gleaming in the sun. The uniform, instead of being completed bybreeches, ended in a short skirt and tan leather leggings.

  It was Lewis's niece. She had spent two afternoons at Villa Sirenarambling about the gardens. Once more Michael observed her unhealthyemaciation, which was beginning to take on the miserable appearance ofconsumption. Her Sam Brown belt buried itself in her blouse, as thoughfailing to meet the resistance of a body underneath the cloth. The faceunder the visor of the military cap was as sharp as a knife. Her skin,drawn and lined in spite of her youth, showed all the bones and hollows.It was impossible to judge her age: she might have been twenty-five, orshe might have been sixty. Only the eyes had retained their freshness;eyes that still kept the guilelessness of adolescence, and looked onesquarely in the face with the serene confidence of a virgin sure of herstrength.

  She had gone through the horrors of war, as through a flame that driesup and parches everything it touches, and in the end converts it todust. She was like a mummy, burned by the fire of the blazing towns thatshe had seen, and shaken by the tears and moans of thousands of humanbeings. "Think what those ears have heard!" Michael said to himself. Andhe understood the sad expression of the pale mouth which hung wearilybetween two drooping furrows. "And think what those eyes have seen!" hecontinued mentally. But the eyes did not care to remember and smiled athim, happy in the present moment.

  She had just come out of a large hotel converted into a hospital, andwas waiting for the street car to go to Menton. More wounded soldiershad arrived there, and owing to the scarcity of nurses the doctors hadbeen obliged to accept her services. For the present they would notbother her any more with solicitude about her health! As she thought ofthe hard work that lay before her, of the long night watches, and thefight with death to save so many lives, she was filled with joy. She wasanxious, as though she were going to a celebration to take the shorttrip as soon as possible, and seeing the car coming, she shook handswith the Prince again, with a firm grip.

  "I shall go on abusing your permission. Next time I shall pillage yourgardens even worse. Flowers ... lots of flowers! If you would only seethe joy they give the poor fellows when you put them beside the beds!Some of the doctors are vexed; they think it is silly. But all I say is:as long as we have to die, why not die with a little poetry, withsomething around us to remind us of the beauty we are losing. It doesn'thurt any one."

  Lubimoff went on his way, but his heart was less light. This woman,fighting death so generously and so manfully, seemed to have torn awaythe rosy veil that had made his eyes rejoice.

  Everything was the same, but of a darker hue, as though he were lookingat the landscape through smoked glasses. He noticed things which he hadnot observed until then. The large hotels had been converted intohospitals. Their porches and large balconies were filled with menbasking in the sun; men whose heads were white balls, bound withbandages that left only the eyes and mouth visible; half finished men,as it were, lacking a leg or an arm, like a sculptor's rough models.Others were lying motionless, with both legs amputated, li
ke corpses ina dissecting room, but still breathing.

  On the sidewalks he met soldiers of various nations: French, English,Serbian, officers, and a few Russians, who reminded him of the formerimportance his country had had in the war. Every variety of uniform wornby the various armies of the French Republic passed before his eyes: thehorizon blue of the home troops, the mustard color of the soldiers fromMorocco, the yellow fatigue caps of the Foreign Legion, and the red fezof the Algerians and the negro Sharpshooters.

  Each one was maimed. This sunny land, with its lovely views of sea andsky, seemed peopled with a race that had survived a cataclysm. Elegantlydressed officers, with handsome figures, limped along, cautiouslydragging one leg, or else stepping gingerly on a foot so swathed inbandages that it was several times its natural size. Some of them wereleaning on canes, bent over like old men. Men of athletic proportionstrembled as they walked, as though their skeletons were rattling aboutin the hollow wrapper of their bodies wasted by consumption. Fingerswere missing on hands; arms had been cut off until the shapeless stumpslooked like fins. Under their pads of cotton, cheeks retained the gashesmade by hand grenades, scars like those left by cancer; the horriblecavity of the nose, which had been torn away in some of the men, washidden by a black tampon attached to the ears. The faces of others werecovered by masks of bandages, leaving nothing visible save the eyes--sadeyes that seemed to look with fear to the day when they would have togrow accustomed to the horror of a face that a few months before hadbeen youthful and now was like a vision in a nightmare. The bodies ofsome were intact, retaining their former strength and agility in alltheir limbs. Seen from behind they had kept all the vigor andsuppleness of youth. But they walked abreast, holding tightly to oneanother's arms, their eyes lost in darkness, tapping the pavement with astick which had taken the place of the vanished sword, and which wouldaccompany them until the hour of their death.

  And this procession of sadness and resignation, this grievous masqueradecomforted by the joyousness of the morning, and feeling love of lifeonce more renewed, was coming from the gardens. Others were going in thedirection of the Casino and its terraces, passing among the Brazilianpalm trees, with smooth, hollow trunks covered with elephant hide; amongthe cacti, held up by iron supports like a tangle of green reptilesbristling with thorns; among the prickly pears as high as trees; amongthe Himalayan fig trees, with towering trunks and wide spreading domesof branches which seemed to have been made to shelter the motionlessmeditation of the fakirs; among all the trees that come from tropicaland temperate America, from China, Australia, Abyssinia, and SouthAfrica. A tiny rivulet descended the slope in zig-zags through theopenings in the green lawn, forming back waters among the bamboos andJapanese palms, until it flowed into a miniature lake, bordered withfoliage, as tranquil, pleasing, and dainty as one of those centerpiecesin which the water is represented by a mirror.

  Michael stopped in the upper gardens to look at the Casino from adistance. He had never realized before the fussiness and bad taste ofthe architecture of this building, which was the heart of Monaco. If the"gingerbread monument"--as Castro called it--closed its doors, all MonteCarlo would be wrapped in a deathly stillness like the loneliness ofthose cities which in former centuries were ports, and now are sleepyand deserted, far from the sea, which has withdrawn. It was the work ofthe architect of the Paris Opera House, an ornate, gaudy, childishstructure, of the color of soft butter, with multi-colored roofs,balconied turrets, niches with nameless statues, many tile friezes andgilded mosaics. At the corners there were green porcelain escutcheons,imitating roughly cut emeralds. The outstanding decorative motif of thisbuilding, famous throughout the world, was the imitation of gold andprecious stones.

  Owing to the prosperity of the establishment, they had added to the mainbody flanked with four towers, an extensive wing in which the bestgaming rooms were located. Various green and yellow cupolas of differentsizes revealed the existence of the latter, rising above the upperbalustrade. On this balustrade a number of bronze angels or genii,entirely nude and with golden wings, had been set up. With blackextended arms they were offering golden tributes, the significance ofwhich no one had been able to guess. Other white or metal statues ofhalf nude women were sheltered in the niches in the walls, and the namesand significance of these were likewise a mystery.

  Although the edifice was erected with the pretense of dazzling andcharming with its gold and soft colors, those who went there paidscarcely any attention to its splendors.

  "The ones who are arriving," Castro would say, "go in on the run; theywant to get placed at the gaming tables as soon as possible. The oneswho are coming out take a gloomy view of everything; and even though theCasino were as beautiful as the Parthenon, they would take it for arobber's cave."

  The Prince looked to the right of the building, where a strip of bluesea was visible, with the hairy trunks and rounded tops of a fewJapanese palms standing out against the blue. There at the entrance tothe terraces along the Mediterranean rose the only two monuments of thecity, dedicated to the fame of two musicians from the simple fact thatsome of their works had been played for the first time in the theater ofthe Casino. Carved in marble, Berlioz and Massenet greeted with a vaguestare in their sightless eyes the cosmopolitan crowd that came to thegambling house. "They are honorary _croupiers_," Castro used to say.

  "Massenet--that isn't so bad," thought Michael. "He was fortunate, hehad money, and his gifts were recognized during his lifetime. Butimagine Berlioz, who spent his years struggling against poverty andpublic indifference, standing guard after death over the Casino'smillions!"

  Next, he looked at the foreground, observing the open Square in front ofthe edifice. There was a round garden in the center. People called itthe "cheese" and some even particularized and called it the "Camembert."

  Around the garden rail and on the benches backing up to it, one couldobserve the living soul of Monte Carlo. Here people gathered, toexchange jokes and gossip, ask news from those who were coming out ofthe Casino, and comment on the good or bad fortune of the mostcelebrated gamblers.

  In the immediate neighborhood, there were no business houses exceptjewelry stores, branches of the government pawn shop, and millineryshops. Women who played small stakes felt like satisfying their longingfor an expensive hat on coming out of the Casino. Those who needed freshcapital to carry out their systems had only to take a few steps to pawntheir valuables. In the show windows of the jewelry shops, pearlnecklaces worth a million francs and emeralds worth three hundredthousand, were exhibited during the winter, waiting for a buyer; and insummer they were sent to the fashionable bathing resorts to continuebeing a mute and dazzling temptation. The jewelers, with Semiticprofiles, were waiting behind their counters, more for sellers thanbuyers, and calmly offered a fourth of the price for a gem bought inthat very shop the year before.

  From a distance it was easy for the Prince to guess the character of themany people who at that early hour were sitting on the benches oppositethe stairs leading up to the edifice. Here those condemned to misery bygambling, and accursed by fate, remained all day, suffering the mostatrocious torment of living close to the door of the sanctuary withoutbeing able to enter. They had lost their last cent, and the directors ofthe establishment, who generously send ruined gamblers back to theirrespective countries, had handed over the _viaticum_ to them for theirreturn. But they had staked the money given to aid them and had lost;and since they were debtors to the Casino they could not reenter ituntil they had fulfilled their obligations. So there they remained,stranded in the Square for all time, with the false hope of getting somemoney. None of them had any idea of how or from what source. Theymingled together there in the companionship of misery, watching forfellow-countrymen who were better off, to besiege them with requests fora loan; or else they spent their time discussing numbers and colors.Perhaps they would succeed in getting together a few francs afterturning all their pockets inside out, and they might choose, as theemissary of their illusions, a comrade who was
as poor as they, but whohad not "_taken the viaticum_" and was free to enter.

  Michael saw a crowd of people extending as far as the Japanese palmtrees, near the Massenet monument. They had just arrived by variousstreet cars from Nice. They were all hurrying, anxious to enter themotley edifice as soon as possible, as though fortune were expectingthem in the gaming rooms and might leave at any moment, tired ofwaiting.

  He looked at the clock above the facade. It was ten o'clock. The dailyoccupations were being resumed and the devotees who lived in Monte Carlowere likewise flocking there, and mingling with the people who had comefrom other places. They all mounted the marble steps, following thethree stair-carpets held in place by brass rods that glistened in thesun.

  "And to think that we're at war!" Michael thought. "And many of thosewho have gotten up early to make the trip, and those who live here, too,have sons or brothers or husbands, who at the present moment arefighting, and dying perhaps!"

  Love of life, love of pleasure, and the vain hope of winning, workedlike an anaesthetic, causing them all to rise above their worries andforget, so that they were able to live entirely in the present moment.

  This general rush for the opening of the gaming hall disgusted thePrince and caused him to halt in his descent of the gentle slope of thegardens. It was repugnant to him to mix with the crowd that wasloitering in the neighborhood of the Casino.

  His desire to retrace his steps gave him an idea. "Supposing you go andsurprise Alicia at her home? She would be so pleased!"

  She had been at Villa Sirena twice since her first visit. A chancemeeting in the street with the Prince, when she was walking along withher friend Clorinda, had served as a pretext for another visit to therefuge in their beautiful gardens of "the enemies of women." He foundthe "General" less hostile and dominating than he had imagined; but hecould not understand Castro's passion for her. In spite of her beauty itseemed to him that he was talking to a man. They had been accompanied byValeria, a young French girl, who had been a protegee of Alicia's, atraveling companion in the days of dazzling wealth, and who nowaccompanied her in poverty, out of gratitude and fidelity. Later theDuchess de Delille had returned alone a second time to consult him aboutvarious projects for her future, all of them lacking in common sense;and she had finally accepted a loan of a thousand francs. Luck wasagainst her in gambling: she needed new "tools to work with." Thecapital that had irritated her so by never varying, never going muchabove thirty thousand, had finally heard her complaints, and dwindledwith lightning rapidity, leaving merely a few remnants of its formerself.

  In spite of the Prince's loan the Duchess had complained.

  "I'm always the one who is looking you up: you never deign to visit myhouse. How poor I really am!"

  Remembering her humble protest, the Prince no longer hesitated. Turninghis back on the Casino, he began to ascend the sloping streets in thedirection of the frontier line separating Monte Carlo from Beausoleil;streets that displayed names recalling Spring: the Street of the Roses,of the Carnations, of the Violets, of the Orchids.

  He entered a short avenue formed by a double row of garden fences. Hecaught a glimpse of the houses between the columns of palm trees, andthe firm leaves of the large magnolias. As he went along he read thenames of the small estates carved on little plaques of red marble,placed at the entrance to the grounds. "Villa Rosa", here it was. Hepushed open the iron gate, which was ajar, without hearing the sound ofa voice or the barking of a dog to greet his presence. He saw a smallgarden half deserted, overgrown with weeds at the foot of the untrimmedtrees, and covering the space that had formerly been occupied by flowerbeds. The rest was more carefully tended, but it was a vegetable gardenwith rectangles of kitchen stuffs intensively cultivated.

  Lubimoff approached without meeting anyone. It occurred to him that thegardener must have been the man with the dog, whom he had met as heturned into the street.

  Then he mounted the four steps at the entrance. Here too the door washalf ajar, and upon pushing it all the way open, he found himself in ahallway with stairs leading to the upper story.

  There was no one in sight. He tried the doors of the adjoining rooms andfound them locked. There was not a sound. It was as though the housewere deserted. But the silence was suddenly broken by a voice floatingdown the stairway. It was a faint voice, singing a slow, sad Englishair. The song was accompanied by a sound of dull blows, as though handswere beating and shaping up some large unresisting object.

  Michael thought he recognized Alicia's voice. He coughed several timeswithout result; he was not heard. He was about to call to let her knowthat he was there, but refrained, through a sudden impulse to play alittle joke on her. Why shouldn't he surprise her by going up-stairs theone part of the house where she was now living, he thought? Hishesitation vanished. Up-stairs he would go!

  From the first landing he saw several doors, but only one was open; andit was from that one that the sounds of the song and the thumping werecoming. A woman bending over a bed, was holding out her arms andvigorously shaking up a pillow. Instinctively she felt that some one wasstanding behind her, and turning around she gave an exclamation ofsurprise on seeing Michael in the doorway. The latter was no lesssurprised to recognize the woman as Alicia; an Alicia dressed in anelegant but old negligee, with crumpled gloves on her hands, and a veilwrapped around her hair.

  "You! It's you!" she exclaimed. "How you frightened me!"

  Immediately she recovered her composure, and smiled at the Prince, asthe latter tried to excuse himself. He had not met any one; the gate andthe door had been open. She, in turn, now excused herself. It wasSunday; Valeria, her companion, had gone to Nice to take lunch with afamily she knew; her maid and the gardener's wife were at mass; the oldman had gone out a moment before to see some friends.

  After these mutual explanations they both remained silent, looking ateach other hesitatingly, not knowing what to say, but still smiling.

  "You making your bed!" he remarked, just to say something.

  "So you see. This is rather different from my bedroom in Paris. It ishardly the 'study' that I took you to either. Times have changed!"

  Michael gravely nodded assent. Yes, times had changed.

  "At any rate," she continued, "you must confess that there is a certainnovelty in seeing the Duchess de Delille, madcap Alicia, making herbed."

  The Prince nodded again. Indeed it was a novelty: something one couldnot see every day.

  Alicia persisted in her explanations. It had not been at all hard forher to do housework. She cleaned her room herself, in order to save herelderly maid the extra bother. She did not want Valeria to help her.They were each keeping their own rooms in order, now that help wasscarce. Besides, she herself sometimes went into the kitchen, and shewould have liked to help the gardener cultivate the little garden, justfor her own pleasure.

  "We are living in war times; things are getting dearer every day, and asfor me, I'm poor. We ought to return to the simple primitive life. But Idon't dare work in the garden, on account of the neighbors. They watchyou all the time from their windows. There is a Brazilian gentleman,even, who seems to have fallen in love with me."

  She herself was proud of her industriousness. Who would ever haveguessed such qualities some years before in the mistress of theluxurious residence on the Avenue du Bois, who was in the habit ofgetting up at three o'clock in the afternoon?

  "I owe it all to mamma. She had me educated in a girls' school inEngland, when it was the fashion to substitute domestic work for thephysical exercise of sports. I think it's called 'Corinthianism.' And Ifeel better than ever. In the old days I had to get up several morningsa week with Valeria and Clorinda and go to a tennis club and play untilI was exhausted. Now, after taking care of my room and helping with theothers I don't need any exercise. I'm doing poor man's gymnastics."

  There was a long silence. Michael looked at the room; a woman's bedroom,still in disarray, with clothes lying on the arm chairs, giving out theperfume of a fastidious
femininity. Through a narrow door he saw acorner of the adjoining bath room, where a wet spot had been left on themosaic floor, from the morning bath. An odor of eau de cologne and toothpaste hung in the air. From several toilet jars, in disorder, vaguescents of more precious essences were escaping. Mingling with the toiletarticles and objects of intimate apparel, he could distinguish cardssuch as are given out to the patrons of the Casino, to mark their plays;some with red or blue marks in the columns, others pricked with a hatpin, for lack of a pencil. He observed larger cards, with a roulettewheel indicating the numbers and colors; and also many books of the sortsold by the stationers and at newspaper stands; illuminating treatiseson "How to win without fail in all kinds of play." On the mantelpiece,half hidden by various fashion magazines, was a small roulette wheel, areal one, used undoubtedly in studying out and trying various theories.On the lamp stand beside the bed the latest copy of the Monte CarloReview was lying open, with statistics of all the winning numbers duringthe past week at the various tables; interesting reading, withmysterious annotations which had kept Alicia up perhaps till dawn.

  In the meantime she was dexterously causing to disappear everythingwhich she considered prejudicial to her appearance since the surprise.When Michael looked at her again the old gloves had vanished from herhands and the veil was hidden somewhere. Her hair, now left free, wasblack and lustrous, a trifle coarse, perhaps, but it rose luxuriantly inlarge ringlets in disarray.

  They prolonged the silence with an embarrassed smile, as though neitherof them could find a way of relieving the situation.

  "Go on with your work," Michael said, somewhat timidly. "Now I'm here, Idon't want to be in the way."

  As though seeing a challenge to her embarrassment in these words, andanxious at the same time to show her skillfulness, she bent over the bedto continue her work. Michael regained his high spirits at this displayof confidence. It wasn't chivalrous to allow her to work alone: he musthelp her.

  "You! You!" exclaimed Alicia, laughing, as though such a propositionseemed to her unthinkable.

  The Prince pretended to feel hurt. Yes: he! Wasn't he a sailor, andhadn't his adventurous life compelled him to know how to do a little ofeverything? More than once in his explorations in the wilds, he had hadto make a bed as best he could, wrapped in blankets beside the embers ofa fire.

  He had gone over to the other side of the bed, and was imitating all themovements of the Duchess with comic exaggeration. He petted the pillowsafter her, with such violence as to make the bed resound. While shelifted it slightly toward her to shake it better, he lifted itcompletely with his strong hands.

  "You don't know how! You don't know how!" Alicia exclaimed with childishglee.

  Then, seeing his fingers seize the linen with a powerful grip, sheadded:

  "Good heavens, let go of that: You'll tear the pillow, and just now, inthese hard times!"

  They both laughed, finding this work very amusing.

  "Take hold!" she said in authoritative tones, and flung in his face asheet that she was holding at the opposite side.

  Michael found himself wrapped in a cloud of filmy linen fragrant withfeminine perfumes. It was for an instant only, but to him it seemed likesomething extraordinary, of limitless duration, extending beyond thebounds of time and space. He had a presentiment that this insignificantevent was going to be a turning point in his life. He felt his formerself suddenly awaken with fresh vigor. Perhaps it was the stimulationdue to continence. He thought of Castro's ironic smile, and of himself,living like a hermit there in Villa Sirena, and preaching hostility towomen! There was a buzzing in his ears; his eyes, momentarily blinded,seemed to be gazing on a vast expanse of rosy sky, the pale, lusciousrose color of a woman's flesh. There was something intoxicating in thesudden breath that caused his brain to reel, communicating the sensationto his whole organism, as violently as though struck with a lash. Whenthe sheet had fallen back on the bed, Michael was deathly pale, with alook of intenseness gleaming in his eyes. She thought he was angry atthe jest, and she laughed mischievously, leaning on the pillow with herhands. As she shook with laughter, the lace of her low-necked negligeetrembled seductively on her breast and shoulders.

  Suddenly the Prince found himself on the other side of the bed close toAlicia. Finally they both sat down on the edge of the bed, turning theirbacks on the forgotten sheet. He took one of her hands without realizingwhat he was doing. Then he bent so close to her face that one of herMedusa-like tresses brushed against his temple. He felt no desire totalk, but seeing her eyes, so close to his, he broke the pleasantsilence.

  "You have been weeping!"

  The woman protested with a strained smile and grew pale as she stammeredher excuses. No; perhaps it was the dust shaken up by the cleaning, orthe effort of working. But he went on studying her eyes which wereindeed slightly reddened.

  "You were crying when I came in," he continued, with insistent andtroubled curiosity.

  Now Alicia's protest took the form of a harsh, shrill laugh, that wasdecidedly forced and unnatural. And by one of those modulations of whichonly great actors know the secret, the burst of her laughter diedgradually into a sigh, then a groan, until, letting go the Prince'shand, she covered her eyes, and hung her head, while a fit of sobbingshook her whole body.

  She was crying. It was enough that Michael should have discovered herrecent weeping to cause the tears to rise in her eyes again, renewingher former anguish. She gave in to her grief with a sort of crueldelight, finding it preferable to the torture of feigning, which hisunexpected visit had imposed.

  The Prince remained silent for a few moments.

  "Is it for that young fellow of yours?" he plucked up courage to ask,with a shaking voice as though he too were undergoing an unexplainableemotion.

  She replied with a slight movement of her head, without taking her handsfrom her eyes. It was unnecessary for Michael to see them. He hadguessed the truth on discovering the traces of tears. It could be onlyfor him that she was weeping: the lack of news; the worry of thinkingthat he was a prisoner, far off, suffering all sorts of privations; andthat perhaps she would never see him again.

  "How you love him!"

  The Prince was surprised himself at the tone of voice in which he saidthese words. There was a note of despair, envy, and sadness at thethought of the passing years, bequeathing to the coming generation thehaughty privileges of youth.

  The guests at Villa Sirena would also have been astonished to hear himtalk in this fashion. Alicia's surprise caused her to forget allprecaution as a pretty woman, and lift her head, as she took away herhands. Her face was red, her eyes tremulous and overflowing. A tear hungfrom a lock of hair. She realized that she must be looking terrible, butwhat did she care?

  "Yes, I love him; I love him more than anything in the world. It is onhis account that I go on living. If it weren't for him I would killmyself. But he isn't what you think. No, he isn't."

  With her face so reddened with weeping, it was impossible to detect ablush; but her gestures, the expression of her face and the tone of hervoice, rebelled with shame and indignation against the suspicion of thePrince.

  She went on talking in a low voice, without daring to look at him,hurrying her words like a penitent anxious to get through with adifficult confession as soon as possible. On various occasions intalking with the Prince, the truth had come to her lips, and at the lastmoment the reticence of a woman still desirous of pleasing through herbeauty had caused her to conceal the facts. But to whom could she revealher secret better than to Michael? She considered him one of the family:he had received her in friendly fashion in her hour of need, when somany men had turned their backs on her. Besides, between a man and awoman, love is not the only feeling that can exist, as she had thoughtin the days of her mad youth. There were other less violent things, moreplacid and lasting: friendship, comradeship, and brotherly affection.

  She paused for a moment, as though to gather strength.

  "He is my son."

  Mic
hael, who was expecting some extraordinary, some monstrousrevelation, worthy of her mad past, was unable to restrain anexclamation of astonishment:

  "Your son!"

  She nodded: "Yes, my son." With lowered eyes, she went on talking in thesame nervous tone, as though she were making a confession. She went backover her past. How surprised she had been, how angry, at the cruel tricklove had played in cutting off the best years of her life! Herindignation was like that of the citizens of Ancient Greece who began ariot when they learned of the pregnancy of a courtezan who wasconsidered a national glory, a beauty whom the multitude came from afarto see, when she showed herself nude in the religious festivals. Theywere bent on killing her unborn child, as though it had been guilty ofa sacrilege. Alicia, too, used to consider herself a living work of art,and wanted to punish the sacrilege of her child with death. Whatcriminal attempts she had made to rid herself of the shame that wasthrobbing in her vitals! Besides, what tortures she had undergone in herefforts to hide it, to go on leading her life of pleasure as before, andsuffer anything rather than permit her secret to escape! Returning fromparties where she had seen herself admired as formerly yet always withthe dread that her secret had been discovered, she would fall into fitsof homicidal rage and rebelliously curse the being that persisted inliving within her; and in paroxysms of wild hysteria she would deviseways and means of encompassing its destruction.

  There were tears in her voice as she recalled these scenes.

  "But how about your husband?" Michael asked.

  "We separated at that time. He could tolerate my love affairs insilence: he could pretend not to know about them ... but a child thatwasn't his own...!"

  She recalled the attitude of the Duke de Delille. He had shown a dignityworthy of him. There had been many deceived husbands in his family: ithad almost become a tradition of nobility, an historic distinction. Hedid not feel dishonored by selling his name in getting married in orderto increase the pleasures and comforts of his life. His name thatbelonged to him was a tool to work with. But it was impossible for himto let that name get out of his family, to give it to an intruder tocontinue the line. His forefathers had had many illegitimate children;but it had never occurred to any of his gay women ancestors to introduceinto the family descendants in whose creation their husbands couldassume no responsibility whatever.

  The Duke had separated from her, granting all her demands save thatone. It was an adulterous son and it must disappear. And no one, exceptthey two and the maid--who was still with her--were to know of thebirth.

  "There were times when I was quite happy," Alicia continued. "I learnedto know new unsuspected joys. I would suddenly leave Paris: lots ofpeople thought I was traveling with some new lover. No; I was going tosee my little boy, my George; first in London, later in New York, butalways in a large city. I could live with him, and play at being amother, with a living doll that kept getting bigger and bigger ...bigger! Do you remember the night I invited you to dinner? I had justcome back from one of those trips, and in spite of that, just think ofthe foolish things I said. I imagined myself Venus, or Helen, passingbefore the old men on the wall. And in order to give myself upcompletely to a paroxysm of maternal pride I was thinking of myheroines, who were also my rivals. Helen had had children, and men wenton killing one another for her. Venus had not escaped maternity, andgods and mortals continued to adore her in spite of the fact that shehad a son fluttering about the world. Maternity meant neither abdicationof rights nor loss of prestige; she could go on being beautiful andbeing desired, like other women, after an incident that had seemed toher irremediable. So I went on living my life. Oh, when I think of how Isometimes shortened the time that I had intended to stay with him, inorder to follow some man that scarcely interested me! Now that I haven'thim, I think of the hours that I might have lived by his side, and thatwere given up to the first male that aroused my curiosity! It's my mostterrible remorse; it gnaws at my conscience all night long, and drivesme to gambling as the only remedy. I am certainly to be pitied,Michael."

  But a fixed idea seemed to dominate Michael as he listened to her.

  "And the father? Who is the father?"

  The tone of his voice was practically the same as before: a tone ofhostile curiosity, of aggressive spite.

  Another wave of astonishment swept over him when he saw that she wasshrugging her shoulders.

  "I don't know; it doesn't make any difference to me. Other women, inlike circumstances, fasten the paternity on the man they are mostinterested in. As though you could tell! I haven't picked out any one inparticular from among my memories. They are all the same. I haveforgotten them all. My son is mine, mine only."

  She had the majestic indifference of the serene and fertile forest thatopens its blossoms to the pollen scattered through the air like a goldenrain of love. The new plant springs up. It belongs to the forest, andthe forest keeps it, without showing any interest in learning the nameand origin of the wandering source of life borne hither willy-nilly onthe wind.

  There was a long silence.

  "One day, on arriving in New York," she continued, "I made a terriblediscovery. I found my George almost as tall as I was, and stronglooking, with the serious air of a grown man, though he wasn't quiteeleven. I'm ashamed to think it; but I mustn't lie: I hated him. Venusmight have a son, as long as the son remained eternally a little childthrough all the centuries, like one of those amusing babies that aredressed in a whimsical fashion, and are the mother's pride andamusement. But my own son, with his powerful body, his strong hands, andsolemn face! It meant that I should grow old before my time; I shouldhave to renounce my youth if I kept him by my side! I could never resignmyself to declaring that I was his mother. And I fled from him, lettinga number of years go by, without paying attention to anything in regardto him, excepting to send the means for his complete education. Oh, whenI think how fate has punished me for my selfishness!"

  She remained silent for a few moments to dry the fresh tears that werereddening her eyes and giving her voice a husky resonance.

  "He came to Paris when I was least expecting him. The venerable friendwho was looking after his education there in America, had died. I founda man, a grown man, in spite of the fact that he wasn't over sixteen. Myfirst feeling was one of annoyance, almost anger. I should have to sayfarewell to youth, and change my mode of life on account of thisintruder. But there was something in me that kept me from doing anythingso heartless as to send him back to a foreign country, or off to aboarding school in Paris. I grew accustomed to him at once. I had tohave him in my house. It seemed as though, when I was near him, I felt acertain serenity, a deep quiet joy that I never thought myself capableof feeling. You don't know what it means, Michael. You could neverunderstand, no matter how much I tried to explain it to you. I swear itwas the happiest time in my life. There is no love like that. Besides,we were such good comrades! I suddenly felt as though I were a girl ofhis age again; no, younger than he. George used to give me advice. Hewas so wise for a boy of his age; and I used to do what he said like ayounger sister. He let his mother drag him along and introduce him to aworld of pleasure and luxury that dazzled him, after his sober, athleticlife with a stern educator. And I leaned proudly on his arm, and laughedat the false ideas people had of our actual relation. How we used todance, the year before the war, without any one suspecting the truenature of the affection that bound me to my partner!"

  Alicia paused to linger on these delightful memories. She smiled with afar-away look in her eyes, as she thought of the malicious error peoplehad made.

  "Every tango-tea in the Champs-Elysees found the Duchess de Delilledancing with her latest crush! And, Michael, as for me, I was proud thatthey should be making such a mistake. I went on being the beautifulAlicia, restored to youth by the fidelity of an adolescent whoaccompanied her everywhere, with all the enthusiasm of a first love.This seemed to me a much better role than that of the passively resignedmother. Besides, what fun we used to have laughing and talking it overafterw
ards when we were by ourselves! Many of my former lovers felttheir old passion revive again out of a sort of unconscious envy--theinstinctive rivalry that the man of ripe years feels toward youth--andthey began besieging me with their gallantries again. George used tothreaten me in fun: 'Mamma, I'm jealous!' He didn't want any other manto be showing attentions to his mother, so that she might belong to himcompletely. On other occasions I myself had better reasons to protest. Isurprised a greedy look in the eyes of many women of my own class whenthey gazed at him--some with a boldly inviting look, since, beingyounger, they felt they had a right to take him away from me. And he wasso good! He used to joke with me about these passions that he inspired;and tell me about others that I had not been able to guess! You don'tknow what young people are like nowadays, in the generation that hasfollowed us. They seem to be made of different flesh and blood. Ourgeneration was the last to take love seriously; to give tremendousimportance to it, and make it the chief occupation of our lives. Nowthey don't understand people like you and me: we seem monstrous to them.My son is only interested in one woman: his mother; and in addition toher, automobiles, aeroplanes, and sports. All these strong, innocentboys seemed to have guessed what was awaiting them...."

  As she spoke, the momentary serenity with which she had related thishappy period in her life gradually vanished. She went on talking in asubdued voice, choked from time to time by sobs.

  Suddenly war had come. Who could have imagined it a month before? Andher son was ashamed not to be one of the men who were hurrying to therailroad stations to join a regiment. One morning he had overwhelmed herwith the announcement of his enlistment as a volunteer. What could shedo? Legally she was not his mother. George bore the name of a pair ofold married servants who had been willing to play that game of deceptionby posing as his parents. Besides, he was born in France, and it was notextraordinary that he, like so many other youths, should have wanted todefend his country before he was called to arms by law.

  The Duchess lived for a few months in a tiny village in the south ofFrance, near the Aviation Camp where her son was in training. She wantedto be with him just as long as she possibly could. If only he had becomea soldier at the time when she was living separated from him, and wasconcealing her actual relation to him! But she was going to lose him atthe sweetest moment of her life, when she was beginning to think shemight be at George's side forever.

  "It did not take him long to become a pilot. How I hated the ease withwhich he learned to manage his machine! His progress filled me withpride and anger. Those young fellows are regular fanatics so far asaviation is concerned. It is something that has come into existence intheir time, and they have seen it grow before their school-boy eyes. Hewent away, and since then I have been more dead than alive. Three years,Michael, three years of torture! I've paid dearly for all my past life!Though the mistakes that I made were great, I've made up for them, andmore too. You may well have compassion on me. You can have no idea whatI'm suffering."

  The first year that Alicia had spent alone, she had lived in constantexpectation of his letters, which arrived irregularly from the front.Her joys were few and far between. George had come to Paris only once onleave, and had spent half a week with her. At long intervals she alsoreceived visits from the aviator's comrades, greeting the news theybrought with tears and smiles. Her son had received the War Cross afteran air battle. His mother had cut out the short newspaper paragraphreferring to this event, sticking it with two pins on the silk withwhich her bedroom was hung. She would spend hours staring as thoughhypnotized at these brief lines: "_Bachellery, Georges, aviator, gavechase to two enemy planes beyond our lines and ..._"

  This "Bachellery, Georges" was her son! It made no difference to herthat other people were not aware of the fact. Her pride seemed to growbecause of the mystery surrounding it. The handsome strapping fellow,strong, and innocent as the heroes of ancient legend, had been formed inher body. All the men whom she had known in her past life seemed moreand more petty and ugly; they were inferior beings, sprung from anotherrace of humanity, the existence of which should be forgotten.

  Suddenly a stupid, unforeseen accident plunged her into the darkness ofdespair. One beautiful morning with the joyous confidence of a youngknight setting forth in quest of adventure, the aviator started out inhis pursuit machine, rising through the silvery clouds in search of theenemy. Suddenly, he noticed some slight motor trouble--due to thenegligence of the mechanics in getting it ready, a matter of slightimportance under ordinary circumstances ... and he was forced todescend, absolutely unable to continue his flight, and the wind and badluck caused him to land within the German lines.

  "A hundred yards this side, and he would have landed among his ownmen.... What can you expect? I was too happy. I had still to learn whatmisery really means! I confess that at the very first I was almost glad,with the selfish gladness of a mother. A prisoner! It meant that hislife would be safe; he wouldn't be killed in an air battle; he was nolonger in danger of being crushed to pieces or burned to death under hisbroken machine. But later on!..."

  Later this security, that placed her son outside the limit of actualwar, became a source of torture. She envied herself the times when heused to go out each day and face death, but still remained free. Thenewspapers talked about the suffering of the prisoners, their beingherded together in vast unsanitary sheds, and the hunger from which theywere suffering. The life of ease and comfort which the mother wasleading was a constant source of remorse. When she sat down at table, orlooked at her soft bed, or noticed the warm caress of a fire, and sawthat the window panes were covered with the traceries of frost, she feltshe was usurping in a shameless manner something that belonged toanother person. Her boy, her poor boy, was living like a stray dog,lying on the straw, with hunger gnawing at his stomach! She had produceda human being--she, a miserable woman, who for so many years hadbelieved herself the center of the universe, was enjoying all kinds ofluxuries--and this flesh of her flesh was agonizing under the torturesof want such as are felt only by the most poverty stricken.... Shenever could have dreamed that such an irony of fate would be reservedfor her.

  During the first few months she scurried wildly about, with the fierceirrational love of the female animal that sees her young in danger. Shewent from one government bureau to the other, taking advantage of allher social connections! But there were so many mothers! They were notgoing to open diplomatic negotiations for a woman in her position....Every day she sent large packages of food to the offices that had chargeof prisoners' relief. They finally refused to accept them. The entireservice could not take up all its time doing nothing but send aid to amere protege of the Duchess de Delille. There were thousands andthousands of men in the same situation as he. And she could not cry out:"He is my son!" A scandalous revelation like that would not helpmatters. She kept on sending the packages regularly even if they did notgo to her George. They would be used to satisfy some one's hunger. Shefelt the magnanimity roused by great sorrow; she made her offerings likea mother who, in praying for her child when all hope has been given up,prays for other sick children also, feeling that through her generosityher prayers may be heeded.

  Besides, the suspense was cruel. When the clerks took her packages, theysmiled sadly. She was practically certain that her shipments of foodwere being appropriated by the guards. All the expensive eatablesintended for her son were doubtless used by the old German reservists incharge of guarding the prisoners, to have a joyous feast, with thegreedy merriment of fierce mastiffs, toasting to the glory of the Kaiserand the triumph of their race over the entire world! Good God! Whatcould she do?

  At long intervals, after tremendous delays, she would finally get apostcard passed by the German censor. There would be four lines,nothing more, written as children write at school, under the eye of theteacher standing at their backs. But the writing was George's. "In goodhealth. We're not badly treated. Send me eatables." She would spend longhours gazing at these timid, deceiving lines. For her they acquired anew mean
ing. They told something else: the truth, namely. She recalledthe stories of dying captives who had come from those torture camps, andthe lines seemed to stammer with groans of a sick child: "Mamma ...hungry. I'm hungry!"

  There were times when she thought she would go mad. Everything about herbrought to memory the image of her George, well groomed, and cared forby her with such fond and exaggerated attention. She had looked afterhis clothes, taking an interest in the respective merits of his tailors.She had had to endure his masculine protests when she had tried toprovide him with underwear of fine silk like her own. In the morning sheused to go and surprise him, as he lay in bed, like a little child, andkiss her own flesh and blood, metamorphosed into an athlete. Everythingseemed to her too mean and poor for that strong fellow, handsome as agod of old. She looked after his bed, his dresser, and his person withall the passionate fondness of a sweetheart. She inspected his pocketsin order continually to renew her gifts of money. Her Mexican mines werehis, and so were the frontier lands, and everything she possessed. Andlater on--she hated to think when--she would see him married to some oneafter her own heart. Then his obscure birth was to be glorified by thesplendor of enormous wealth. But suddenly the world, losing its balance,had been plunged into a furious madness, and this Prince of Fate, whosemother, in conference with the chef, had invented gastronomic surprisesfor him alone, was crying from some far off snow-swept plain in the icynorth:

  "Mother ... hungry. I'm hungry!"

  "I went to Switzerland three times, Michael. I even proposed that inParis they should provide me with means of getting into Germany,offering to go as a spy. But they laughed at me; and they were right!What was I going to spy out? My son, of course ... what I wanted to doin Germany was to see my son. In Switzerland I met two crippled soldierswho had just been exchanged, and came from the camp where George was.They knew the aviator Bachellery. He had tried to escape five times. Heenjoyed a certain fame among his companions in misery for thehaughtiness with which he faced the cruelest guards. The latest news wasuncertain. They had not seen him lately. They thought that he was thenin another prison camp, a punishment camp, farther inland, near thePolish frontier, where the refractory and dangerous prisoners wereforced to undergo a cruel disciplinary regime, and suffer terriblepunishments."

  Her voice trembled with anger as she said this. She could see her sondragging a chain, and being whipped like a slave. Oh, if she were only aman, and could be left alone for a moment with that tragi-comedian withthe upturned mustache who had made many millions of women groan withsorrow!

  "And to think that there have been fanatics who have killed good orinsignificant kings! And not one of them has lifted a hand to do awaywith the Kaiser! Don't talk to me about anarchists. They are idiots! Idon't believe in them."

  This outburst of wrath vanished immediately. Once more grief and despairtore a sob from her. She remembered a photograph she had seen in one ofthe newspapers: the torture called "the post," applied by the Germans intheir punishment camps; a Frenchman in a tattered uniform, fastened toa wooden stake, as though it were a cross, on an open snow-coveredplain, suffering for hours and hours from the deadly cold. It was thedeath penalty, hypocritically applied, with savage refinements oftorture. It was impossible to distinguish the features of the poorfellow suffering like Christ, with his head falling on his breast. Evenif it wasn't George, surely he had also suffered the same torture.

  "How can I live in such endless anguish! They wouldn't let me go back toSwitzerland. They held up my passports. I don't know what's happened tohim. There are times when it seems as though my head would burst. That'swhy I avoid living alone. That's why I gamble, and have to see people,and talk, and get away from my thoughts. Since then I've only receivedone postcard from my son, without any date, and without any indicationas to where he is. It says about the same as the other one. The writingis his, and nevertheless it seems to be in another hand. Oh, what thatwriting says! I see him like the other man, like the poor fellowfastened to the post covered with rags, as thin as a skeleton.... Myson!"

  Michael was obliged to take both her hands in a strong grip, and drawthem towards him, holding her up, to keep her from falling on the bed inhysterical convulsions. He was sorry that he had come, and, by hiscuriosity, invited a confession that aroused the woman's grief.

  As for her, she looked at him with wide-open staring eyes, withoutseeing him. Finally, concentrating with an effort, she noticed Michael'semotion. This calmed her somewhat.

  "You can be glad you don't know what such torture is like. There's noend to it: there's no help for it. When I think of him, I feel as thoughI were going to die. Not to know about him! Not to be able to doanything! I ought really to find some diversion and learn to think ofsomething else. One must live: one can't be always weeping. But wheneverI succeed in getting interested in anything, I immediately feel remorse.I call myself names: 'You're a bad mother, to forget your sorrows.' Aday seldom passes that I eat without crying. I'm tormented by thethought that he would be happy with what is left from my table, withwhat the servants eat, or perhaps with what they give to the dog! Andwhen Valeria and Clorinda see my tears, they can't explain such constantgrief. They don't know my secret. They think like every one else, thatit's simply a question of a mere protege or a young lover. They can'tunderstand such despair over a mere man. That's why I gamble so much.It's the only thing that really keeps my mind occupied, and makes meforget for a time; it's my anaesthetic. Before, I used to play just forthe excitement, for the pleasure of struggling with fate; and because Iwas flattered by the amazement of the curiosity seekers who watched mestake enormous sums with indifference. Now it's on his account--and forno other reason."

  Alicia's mind reverted to her financial difficulties. As a matter offact, her fortune had been seriously impaired some years earlier, butshe had always had hopes of some sudden recuperation. Besides, theperiod before the war had been the happiest time of her life. She hadher son and she lived her life, without any thought of business matters.Later her financial ruin had come along with the loss of George.

  "If only I had the wealth I used to have! I know the power of money. Icould have moved men and even governments. I would have written to theKaiser, or to Hindenburg, sending them a million, two million, or anyamount they asked. 'Now that you are reestablishing slavery andpillaging towns, here is money for you. Give me back my son.' And now Iwould have him back at my side. But I'm poor! If you knew how I lovemoney now, just for his sake! I dream of winning big stakes, fivehundred thousand francs or maybe a million, in two or three days. Howhappy I am when I come back from the Casino with a few thousand francsto the good! 'It's to send my poor boy a box with something good toeat,' I say to myself. Then I write to the stores, or go there myself,keeping in mind the things he liked best. You are rich and don'tunderstand how hard it is to get along now, how scarce things aregetting, and how much they cost! I didn't have any idea of such thingsbefore, either. And I send him boxes of the nicest things; and I feelproud that in my mind I can say to him: 'It's with the money mamma wonfor you ... it's with my work!' Don't smile, Michael. That's what itis--work! Besides, what else could I work at? The one thing that worriesme is how to address these shipments. 'For the Aviator Bachellery,prisoner in Germany.' That's all I know, and there are so manyprisoners! Almost all my shipments must be lost; but some at least willreach him. Don't you think he'll get some of them?"

  The Prince greeted this anxious question with a vague gesture ofagreement. "Yes;--perhaps, almost certainly!"

  Immediately Alicia showed a certain reassurance. Eight months had goneby without her hearing anything about him; but other mothers were in thesame situation. There was no use despairing. Men who had been given upfor dead in the early battles of the war were returning home after along period of captivity. Besides, did it seem reasonable to believethat a son of hers was going to die of hunger and want, like a beggar?

  Lubimoff again nodded assent. "Really, it didn't seem reasonable!"

  "There are mome
nts," she said, "when I feel an unexplainable joy, amysterious intuition, that I'm going to receive good news,--the feelingI have on the days when I go to the Casino sure of winning,--and do win.I wrote to the King of Spain, who is interested in ascertaining the fateof prisoners, and who often succeeds in getting them sent back to theirhomes. I have had a great number of friends write to him. If he couldonly give me back my George! At least I expect to learn good news; tofind out where he is, and convince myself that he is alive. I would besatisfied if they interned him in Switzerland, the way they do with theseriously wounded, and I would go and live with him. How happy I wouldbe if he were in Lausanne or Vevey, beside the lake, like my husband!"

  There was a sad, kindly smile on her face as she thought of the Duke.

  "Oh, I haven't forgotten him, I assure you. Everything that's left overfrom George's boxes, I send to him by way of Geneva. 'ForLieutenant-Colonel de Delille.' Oh, it reaches _him_, without anydifficulty! Poor fellow! His answers are almost love letters. I send himsausages and canned things, in memory of the twenty louis bouquets heused to send me when he was courting me. What are we coming to, Michael!Who could ever have imagined that everything and everybody would be sotopsy-turvy!"

  Already she was talking more calmly, as though the memory of her son wasno longer in the foreground of her thoughts.

  "Everything seems to tell me I'm going to get good news. Misfortunecan't last so very much longer. Doesn't it seem that way to you? It'slike bad luck in play: it finally goes away. The main thing is to saveyour strength in order to resist it. I ought to feel satisfied. I was soexcited I could hardly sleep last night. I went above the thirty; youknow: the thirty thousand francs that used to be the limit of my luck.Last night I won eighty thousand. Your friend Lewis was furious. He saysit takes a woman to do a thing like that: to win, playing haphazard,defying all the rules."

  From the look on the Prince's face she guessed his surprise at hermerriment following so closely on her recent tears.

  "I can't stay by myself. I have such memories! Perhaps you heard mesinging, as you came up-stairs. It's an English song my son used tosing. In the morning I used to go and listen at his door like asweetheart who, while waiting for him to appear, is glad to hear thevoice of the man she loves. Whenever I'm alone I sing it overmechanically; I try to imagine it is George singing, and my eyes fillwith tears, but with tears of tenderness that are very sweet. While Iwas making the bed it seemed as though I heard him, going back and forthin his bedroom, with me waiting and listening in the hall. My voice washis voice. That was why I fairly trembled when you came in. For a momentI supposed you were he. How wonderful it will be when I see him!... I'msure I shall see him. Misfortune can't last forever. Don't you thinkI'll see him?"

  Her closed eyes seemed to smile on a far-off vision of hope. AndMichael, who had remained silent for a long time, spoke to give herencouragement. Poor woman! Yes; she would see her son. At his age a mancan stand any hardship. He would return; they would both be happy oncemore, talking over their present troubles, as though it had all been abad dream.

  "Besides, I will help you. We must get busy and take steps to have yourson returned to you. I shall write to the King of Spain. I knew him. Hehad lunch on my yacht once when I was in San Sebastian. I have friendsin Paris, men in politics, and diplomats; I shall write to all of them.And if worse comes to worst, and there's no other way out of it, I shalltry through the medium of some neutral government to get a letterthrough to Wilhelm II. Perhaps he may pay some attention to me. He mustremember me, and his visit to my boat."

  Now it was her turn to look at him fixedly through a mist of tears,smiling, at the same time, to express her gratitude.

  "How kind you are!" she exclaimed after a long silence. "The day when Iwas in Villa Sirena for the first time I was convinced that I had made agreat mistake. How little we knew each other! We needed adversity to seeeach other as we really are. First you offered to relieve my poverty,and now you are going to try to get me back my son!"

  She let herself be carried away by an impulse of affection. Michael sawher bend her head, and suddenly felt the contact of her lips on hishand. He heard two loud kisses and a voice whispering: "Thanks ...thanks." The Prince rose to his feet. He could not tolerate suchexpression of humility. But at the same time she too stood up; theireyes were on a level. As though desiring to complete the recent caress,she took his head impulsively in her hands, and kissed him on the brow.

  A sudden wave of human fragrance, like that which had enveloped him whenthe sheet had been thrown on his face, once more stirred the depths ofhis being. He realized that the caress meant nothing: that it was merelya kiss of gratitude, a sudden outburst of feeling on the part of amother expressing her emotion with unusual impetuousness. In spite ofthis, he felt himself dominated by passion, cruel and at the same timevoluptuous, causing him to reach out his arms to master and embracewhat he held within reach.... But his hands touched empty space.

  Repenting her act, she had stepped back, retreating a few steps. She wasstanding in the doorway, ready to continue her flight, mechanicallystraightening her hair, and drying her tears, as a deep blush spreadover her features.

  "I didn't know what I was doing!" she murmured. "Forgive me. I was sograteful to learn that you wanted to help me!"

  At the same time she pointed to the balcony. Below, in the garden, thevoice of the gardener could be heard telling his dog to stop thatbarking all the time at the foot of the stairs, as though a thief wereinside the villa.

  "Let us go," she commanded gravely. "The servants will soon be comingback from mass. I shouldn't like to have them find us here in mybedroom. They might think...."

  Calming down, Lubimoff noted the unconscious modesty, and the evidentuneasiness with which she said this. He suddenly recalled the woman ofthe "study" on the Avenue du Bois, and her daring theories. Was itreally the same person?

  As they went downstairs she turned her head to talk to him, as thoughshe had read his thoughts.

  "You must be amused at me. What a change from the Alicia of formertimes! I'm not so bad as I seem, that much is certain, isn't it? Tell meyou don't think I'm so bad; tell me you think I'm only mad; mad, andalways unlucky."

  She opened the rooms downstairs to show how orderly they looked, but thechill of the deserted drawing room, the covers on the furniture, and themusty odor, like that of a damp cellar, prompted them to go out into thegarden and, like two people prolonging their farewell, continue theirconversation at the foot of the stairway.

  The elderly maid of the Duchess, and the gardener's wife who lookedafter the cooking, passed them repeatedly on various pretexts. Theybowed to the gentleman, with a look of adoration and a pleasant smile.They seemed to be saying to themselves: "That nice fellow is PrinceLubimoff, the one that's so much talked about." They had often heard hisname in Villa Rosa, and they both venerated him as a providential beingwho could restore the vanished days of abundance with a mere wave of thehand.

  Michael thought it best not to prolong his visit.

  "Come and see me," she said in a low voice, as she accompanied him outto the gate. "Now you know everything. You're the only one who does. Itwill seem very sweet to me to talk with you, and have you console andhelp me."

  The Prince spent the next few hours, pensive and silent. So many newthings had come up all at once! First there had been the revelation of ason, whose existence he never could have imagined; next, the untamablecreature of love changed into a mother; her tears, her silent suffering,which she was bearing, like a convict's chain, in expiation of her madpast. And the crowning surprise of all had been what he had felt withinhimself, the resurrection of his former being, his new surrender to thedomination of the flesh, and the double lashing his nervous system hadreceived in breathing the perfume of the soft linen and feeling theimprint of her lips on his brow.

  This latter he wished to forget, and to succeed in doing so heconcentrated all his attention on the revelations she had made, and onher maternal sorrows. Poo
r Alicia! Finding her impoverished and tearful,with no other help than that which he might give, he began to feel alasting affection for her. It was the affection of the strong for theweak; a paternal love which did not take into account the similarity intheir ages, nor the difference of sex; a tenderness made up for the mostpart of a certain sweet pity. He was moved by the memory of the humblekiss with which she had caressed his hands. It was the kiss, almost of abeggar. Unhappy woman! This was enough to make him feel obliged never toabandon her.

  Alicia's pride, her desire to dominate, had formerly irritated him.Accustomed to protecting women generously without ever submitting totheir will, considering them in the light of something agreeable andinferior, he could not compromise with her haughty character. They wereboth people too strong and domineering to be able to tolerate eachother. But now everything was changed.

  He remembered her as he had seen her in the bedroom, sorrowful, weeping,with pearls hanging from the corners of her eyes, which were tragicallybeautiful, as in the images of the Virgin, where Mary is holding thebody of the crucified Christ on her knees. _Mater Dolorosa!_

  But there seemed to be another person within the Prince protesting withcold, clear-sightedness against this image. No, she was not the Motherof Sorrows. A mother never abandons her son. She renounces all of thevanities of this world for him. She gives up her present and her future,as though she had no other life than that of her son, part of her ownflesh. At all hours she gives him the milk of her breast. Moment bymoment she follows his development, fighting with illness, laughing atdanger. To love him she does not have to wait for him to grow to thefull splendor of adolescence. Whereas she...!

  She was the _Venus Dolorosa_. Even in the moments of deepest despair shemaintained her beauty, and her grief seemed a new means of seduction.She was a mother; but she continued to be a woman, that terrible,destructive woman whom the Prince had always hated. Look out, Michael!

  But with a smile of superiority he replied inwardly to this reflection.

  "Perhaps I am going to fall in love with her," he said to himself. "I amfond of her as I never thought I could be, but only as a friend, acompanion worthy of pity, one whom I ought to protect."

  At lunch time Spadoni did not turn up at Villa Sirena. Atilio had seenhim at the Casino with some English friends from Nice. They wereprobably lunching together at the Hotel de Paris to work out some newsystem or other. The last thing they had tried was for the four of themto play at different tables, but with the same system of combinations, adevice that the pianist boasted would prove infallible.

  After they had had their coffee, all the guests of the luxurious villaseemed possessed by the same restlessness, which would not let them sitstill.

  Castro was the first one to leave, announcing that he was going to theCasino. He had a feeling that it was going to be a "great evening." Hehad had his eyes on a _croupier_ who started work at half-past three. Heknew this man's style of starting the ball. Every _croupier_ has his ownmannerisms. Some do it with a long sweep, and others with a short jerkymotion of the arm. This particular one made it fall most frequently inseventeen, and that was Castro's number.

  Novoa was the next to go, but he was less frank about it. He stammeredblushingly as he said good-by to the Prince. Perhaps he would spend theafternoon with some friends from Monaco. Perhaps he would take a shorttrip on the Nice road as far as Cap d'Ail or Beaulieu. His was theembarrassment of a man who does not know how to lie.

  The Prince was left alone. He looked at the sea for a while. Then hechanged windows, and gazed at the gardens. He pressed a button to callDon Marcos. He did not know what he was going to say to him but he felthe must see him in order not to remain alone. One of the old womenservants appeared, and announced that the Colonel had gone to MonteCarlo.

  "He, too," the Prince said to himself.

  In order to escape the tediousness of spending a Sunday afternoon alone,he took his hat and overcoat. Some power beyond his comprehension wasimpelling him toward the neighboring city. Turning away from the villa,he walked through the gardens.

  The edifice, thus deserted, appeared larger, and its frowning and angrysilence seemed to be asking him why anybody had ever been such a fool asto waste so much money and material on a box like that.

  Along the nearby road, street cars and carriages were gliding, filledwith city people who were coming out for a glimpse of the smiling sea,or of a group of pines, or to find a height that might afford apanoramic view.

  And he, the owner of the famous gardens of Villa Sirena, was desertingall this beauty to go to a city from which others were trying to escape.

  Lubimoff recalled the splendid scheme of life he had worked out a fewmonths before: a community of lay brethren shut off from the world in aspot like paradise: music, astronomy, pleasant conversations, wholesomework. And now the monks were running away on all sorts of pretexts, andhe, who was their prior, also was feeling an unexplainable impulse tofollow their example. Even Toledo, the faithful admirer of that estatewhich he had considered the best work of his life, seemed to besuffering from the same feverish desire to get away.

  Near the gate he turned to contemplate his beautiful domain as if to begits pardon. There was a silence like that surrounding an enchantedpalace. The gardens seemed asleep like dream woods.

  He thought he saw at the end of a long avenue a flutter of two largebirds. It was Estola and Pistola, in afternoon coats too long for them,running toward the end of the promontory. It was as though Villa Sirenahad been constructed for them. They could play with the active joy ofyouth in these gardens, to the envy of those who lingered at the gateout of curiosity. As they ran along they were free to trample on rareplants brought from the other side of the globe; free to jump from rockto rock in search of the little fishes left by the waves in miniaturelakes in the hollows of the rock, until their coat tails were wet andtheir shoes full of holes--to the despair of the Colonel, who made theservants pass in review before him every day.

  Michael preferred not to ask himself where he was going. He surely hadsome end in view when he started his walk, but he felt it a nuisance tothink about it. Suddenly he saw two currents of people coming fromopposite directions, meeting and mingling, as they both mounted a shortwinding stairway which was divided by two hand-rails, and was covered bythree red carpets.

  He was in front of the Casino. On one side, were arriving the people whohad just come by train, on the other, those who had been gathered in byall the street cars from the towns on the Riviera between Nice and MonteCarlo.

  That evening a celebrated Italian tenor was singing, and many of thepeople, forgetting their game for the moment, were gathering in thetheater.

  Lubimoff found himself immediately attended by two solemn gentlemen infrock coats with black ties and their heads bare. They were twoinspectors from the Casino.

  "We are very sorry, Prince, but everything is full. There are peopleeven in the aisles."

  But since it was he, one of the two men accompanied him as far as thebox belonging to the Prime Minister of Monaco. The man who governed forthe Sovereign Prince recognized him and was anxious to give him the bestseat, but Michael, disliking public curiosity, preferred to remain inthe second row.

  It was a theater without any balconies. The auditorium was wider than itwas deep. The rows of comfortable seats were all alike and all sold atthe same price. The stage was used for concerts and, on rare occasions,for plays and operas.

  The architect who had built the Paris Opera House had repeated the samedazzling display in this hall. There were gold ornaments on every side,elaborate moldings, caryatids and immense mirrors. There was not ahand's breadth of the wall without its gilded stucco, raised in boldrelief.

  In the hall at the rear above the seats that rose at a decided angle,were five boxes, the only ones there were.

  They were reserved for the Sovereign Prince and his high officials.

  While listening to the singing, Michael examined the crowded mass ofpeople, as well as he cou
ld, from his seat. He recognized many as hegazed over their heads.

  Toward the front he distinguished a man with gray hair that was partedfrom the forehead to the nape of the neck, and brushed forward minglingwith his side whiskers, in an Austrian fashion. It was the Colonel, whowas listening with a certain air of authority, swaying his head to showhis approbation of the celebrated tenor. But he was not alone. ThePrince saw him bend toward a girl with curly hair and a string of largeamber beads. Oh, the traitor!

  There was no doubt about it. It must have been the gardener's daughter.That was why he had fled in such a hurry. The milliner's apprentice hadinsisted. She was anxious to hear the singer she had heard the ladiestalk so much about.

  When the huge nightingale had retired to the wings, the Colonel offeredhis protegee a cornucopia full of caramels. Caramels in wartime! Anextravagance, indeed, that only a lover could allow himself.

  In the intermission, the Prince slipped away, for fear that he mightmeet Don Marcos and spoil his aide's pleasant afternoon by his presence.Besides, he was not interested in the opera or in the highly praisedartist.

  He crossed the large ante-room with its columns of jasper supporting agallery with balusters surmounted by bronze candelabras. At one end ofthe room the latest news was posted on panels. The Prince read itwithout any curiosity.

  Nothing new. The same as ever. The monotonous trench warfare wascontinuing. Ground gained and lost by the yard. There would be no end toit.

  He slipped out between the groups of people during the intermission,taking care that the Colonel should not see him.

  Poor Don Marcos! He was walking along gravely and proudly by the side ofhis protegee, who might have been his granddaughter. He glanced withhostility at all the young men, while behind his back, she made eyes atevery passing uniform.

  The Prince was obliged to force his way through a motionless compactgroup made up of wounded officers. French, Canadians, Australians, andEnglishmen. Mingled with them were nurses of various types--some withnunlike veils and with a delicate appearance; others with a masculinelook, having neckties and uniforms with gold buttons, without anyfeminine apparel except their skirts. Some who were older and had shorthair, red faces, and large shell spectacles had to be examined closelybefore one could be convinced, from their hybrid appearance, that theywere women. They crowded together in front of the three double curtainsleading to the gambling rooms. Those who belonged in any way to the armyor navy of any nation whatsoever were not allowed to pass this limit.Soldiers could enter only the theater and the ante-room of the Casino.And those people who in their far-off countries had often heard of MonteCarlo, finding themselves there by chance of war, were crowding at thecurtains with childish curiosity, admiring, for an instant, as thedraperies rapidly opened and closed, the vision of gilded rooms, all ina row and filled with people. Afterwards they would withdraw, giving uptheir places to other comrades. At last they had seen it! Now they couldsay they knew all about Monte Carlo!

  The employees in their black frock coats opened one of the curtains,greeting the Prince as though he were an old acquaintance. It was thefirst time Michael had entered the gaming rooms since his return. Itseemed to him as though he had awakened miraculously into the world ofthings before the war. Everything that was afflicting humanity remainedon the other side of the door, as the action of a drama, unreal butexciting, remains on the stage of a theater which we leave behind us. Hefound even a certain attractiveness in the architecture of these drawingrooms, because of their vague familiarity, recalling the pleasant daysof his life. He was in the Renaissance hall, but his whole attention wastaken by the adjoining parlor, the central rotunda of the Casino, calledthe "Schmidt Drawing Room," the one on which all the other roomsconverge and which seems to be prolonged under the dividing archways tothe farthest ends of the building.

  A pulsing silence arose from the mass of human beings around the greentables. Every one was talking in a low voice as though in church. Fromtime to time this murmur was broken by a long swishing sound, a noiselike that of pebbles on the shore swept by a wave. It was caused by therakes of the employees sweeping the green cloth and carrying with themthe clashing coins and ivory ships--all the spoils of the losings. Thevoices of the _croupiers_, like those of officers giving commands, aroseabove the feverish silence which reminded one of a humming hive.

  "_Faites vos jeux. Vos jeux sont faits?... Rien ne va plus._"

  The hall gradually lost the suppressed noises which served to accentuateits silence. People breathed more naturally, as they craned their necksto see better over the shoulders of those in front of them. Some of thewomen were standing on one foot only, with the other raised behind themlike dancers bending over to touch the ground with their hands. They allcrowded together, paying no attention to the sex of the persons againstwhom they were pushing. During this pause, marked by long faces,frowning eyebrows, drawn mouths, and converging glances, there resoundedwith its noise increased by a diabolical echo, the rattling of the tinyivory ball as it whirled in the grooves along the wooden rim, while thecolored rows of the roulette wheel kept spinning in the oppositedirection, like a kaleidoscope. Suddenly there was a sharp click. Theball had ended its circular flight, falling into a number. The silencewas prolonged. The spectators' necks were craned even more. There was anervous clenching of fists. Again there was the sound of pebbles washedby the sea. The rakes were sweeping the green table. It was a bad numberfor the players. Whenever a stifled uproar occurred, caused by a hundredbosoms suddenly breathing freely, it took the _croupiers_ severalminutes to resume play. They had to pay the winners and settle disputesbetween those who claimed the same bet. At the end of each play variousgroups at a table would disengage themselves to go over to another; butthe ring of people always remained compact through the arrival of newspectators.

  From the central skylight a dim splendor descended. Outside the sun wasshining on the azure sea. This light was like that of a wine cellar, alight, according to Castro, like that of a Hall of Congress. It was ayellowish light gold which seemed to increase the magnificence of thedrawing rooms. The architecture was of the rich and majestic sort thatattracts the crowd and the newly rich. The columns and pillars of onyxand bronze held up a magnificent ceiling, broken by the circular stainedglass of the skylight. In the four triangles of the vault were statuesrepresenting _Air_, _Earth_, _Fire_, and _Water_, as though these fourelements had some relation to the business which gave the vast edificeits reason for existence.

  Four metal spiders, huge and glistening, completed the heavysumptuousness of the decoration. Where there were no gilded ornaments ormirrors, the walls were covered with showy pictures. These paintings andall of the rest that adorned the Casino were the object of Michael'sjests. Some of them were fairly acceptable. The majority appeared veryancient in spite of the fact that they were not over forty years old.But there was nothing noble about their antique appearance. It seemedrather as though they had lain for centuries in scorn and oblivion.Atilio accounted for the appearance of these canvases in a way of hisown. According to him they were the work of various patrons ruined bygambling, whom the Casino felt obliged to advertise.

  The Prince began to notice well-known faces in this crowd which wasbeing constantly renewed, and was changing each moment. The whole world,sooner or later passed that way. That floor with its various inlaidwoods was one of the most frequented spots of Europe. It was somethinglike the ancient Roman forum, a point on which all roads of the entireworld converged. Idlers from the entire globe were attracted to thisroom. They all dreamed of being able to go sometime and risk a coin inthe great Mediterranean gambling house. Men from other continentsdisembarking in the old world wrote Monte Carlo on the itinerary oftheir travels. But this human river which constantly glided along,receiving new waves of arrivals, kept leaving in the crannies of itsshores, pools of stagnant waters, clogged by uprooted plants and thenaked trunks of trees.

  Lubimoff nodded to certain persons, who looked at him with a sort ofcordial surpri
se, as though they were looking at a dead man brought tolife. An old man, with a short bristling beard on a face pale as acorpse, bowed deeply as he passed, without seeming in his humility to beoffended at not receiving an acknowledgment. He was the man most soughtafter and coaxed by the women who frequented the Casino. He wore a sortof black cap like that of a priest, and carried a hat in one hand. Onhis coat lapel was a medal of enamel work with the Sacred Heart ofJesus. Atilio and Lewis had also sought him frequently. Michael was surethat this man was a friend of the Duchess de Delille and that on morethan one occasion he had seen her tears. He loaned money at 5 per cent(for every 24 hours), and spent the time, he was not busy, watching newarrivals from a distance to see if they might turn out to be newclients.

  The Prince received smiles, also from certain respectable looking womenwho were by no means ugly, though they were stout in some parts of theirbody and slender in others, like persons who have taken a course toreduce flesh without obtaining a uniform result. They were seated on thedivans in the corners, talking among themselves, and watching the groupsof gamblers, with the air of employees resting after having done theirduty. They had come to Monte Carlo many years ago with jewels, withthousands of francs, and men who endured all the unevenness of theirtempers and in addition gave them money. And everything had vanished onthe Casino tables. But they went on clinging to the reef on which theyhad been wrecked--perhaps beyond salvation, living on the jettison ofmany another who had followed the same route, only to be dashed on thesame rocks and perish. They offered their services to strangers aspersons acquainted with the mysteries of the house, advising honey-mooncouples what number they should play, as though they knew the secret.Besides they came to the Casino at the opening hour to get the bestplaces at the tables and later give up their chairs to wealthy players,steady clients, who rewarded them generously if luck favored them.

  He met still others also. A number of women passed close to him. Theywere old, but of an age incapable yet of frankly facing the free air andthe open sunlight. Their appearance of antiquity was accentuated bytheir strange apparel, which recalled no particular style--dresses ofbright colors that had faded, and which seemed to have been cut from oldcurtains, and smelled like a musty old house;--and monumental hats orspherical turbans made of mosquito netting. Some were thin asskeletons; others were mountains of living fat; but all of them werepainted scandalously with vermilion and had blue rings around theirlightless eyes.

  "A _louis_, Prince," murmured the most daring. "I am sure that you willbring me luck." As she spoke, her false teeth, too large for her gums,rattled; a stench of the grave accompanied the smile on the paintedlips.

  Michael knew who they were, from Toledo's tales. The Colonel, as anadmirer of fallen royalty, accepted their conversation with melancholydeference. One of them had been a sweetheart of Victor Emanuel; another,who was older, recalled, with sighs, the days of Napoleon III, and ofMorny.

  They had come to die in Monte Carlo, the last spot on earth able toremind them of the splendors of sixty years before; some of them, inmemory of their vanished jewels, calmly displayed brass ornaments andbeads of glass. According to a paradox of Castro's, they had died manyyears before, spending the night in the Monaco Cemetery dressingthemselves with the spoils from other corpses and coming to the Casinofrom force of habit to contemplate once more the scenes of their remoteyouth. The Prince gave them a few bank notes and went out, while theyran to gamble this money, after having thanked him for the gift, with adeath-head grin that was the last remnant of their former professionalcharm.

  Suddenly Michael stopped, observing the various parasites who lived byclinging to the gearing of the terrible machine and feeding on thecrumbs it pulverized. He became interested in the crowd which was alwaysapparently the same, though always with distinct individuals. There weresome who walked along leaning on canes, invalids' canes tipped withrubber--the only kind allowed in the gaming room for fear of quarrels.He noticed flaccid old women slowly hobbling along, paralytic gentlemenleaning on the arm of tall, robust fellows in braided uniforms who ledthem in a fatherly fashion toward the roulette wheels and eased theminto their chairs. A few paralytics arrived at the foot of the stairwayin little carriages like children's carts, and thence were carried onhand chairs through the rooms to their favorite spot. At certain momentsit seemed as though the gambling hall were a famous health resort, or aplace of miracles, like Lourdes. They came just as incurable invalidscome to other places, impelled by a last hope; but in this case the hopewas not for health. That was the least of their cares. What galvanizedthem here was the hope of fortune, and dreams of wealth, as if richeswould be of any service to these poor bodies lacking all the appetiteswhich make life pleasant.

  Mentally the Prince summed up all human passions in two pleasures whichare the springs of all action--love and gambling. There were people whoexperienced equally the attraction of them both--Castro, for example. Hehimself had been interested only in love and could not understand thepleasures of gambling. Whenever he had gotten up from the gaming tables,each time with winnings, he had never felt any temptation to return. Butlooking at these ailing people, some of them very aged, at thoseincurables, all of them dragging themselves toward the roulette wheel asthough toward a miraculous bath, he condoned them pityingly. What otherpleasure was there left for them on earth? How could they fill theemptiness of their lives prolonged so tenaciously?

  What he could not understand was the intense attitude, the hard faces,of the other gamblers who were healthy and strong. Young men moved amongthe women around the tables with hostile brusqueness, quarrelling withthem harshly and treating them like enemies. Women suddenly lost theirgrace and freshness, becoming masculine all at once as they looked atthe rows of cards of _trente et quarante_ or at the mad whirl of thecolored wheel. Their gestures were those of prize fighters. Their mouthswere drawn. There was a look of fierceness in their eyes. As thoughwarned instinctively of this transformation, no sooner did they tearthemselves away from the tables than they took out their vanitycase--the little mirror, the powder, and the rouge--to correct or effacethe passing ravages of the play. Those of more dignified and normalappearance showed themselves at times to be the most reckless. In aplace where all the women were doing the same as they, gambling hadsomething official about it, something worthy of respect; it waspossible for them to indulge in a vice without fear of gossip, withoutthe risk of being criticized.

  The Prince smiled as he remembered a story Toledo had told him a fewdays before: the despair of a woman of about forty who came from Nicewith her two daughters every afternoon, and had finally lost fiftythousand francs.

  "Oh! If I had only taken a lover," the mother had groaned with tears inher eyes. "It would have been better if I had chosen love."

  Michael entered the other rooms that had no skylight. The clusters ofelectric bulbs lighting them with senseless splendor made him think ofthe burning sun and the azure sea just beyond those walls of gold andjasper.

  Above the tables were oil lamps with two enormous shades each onesheltering four fixtures which hung by bronze chains several yards long,attached to the ceiling. Thus if the electric current was cut off,there was no danger of the patrons feeling tempted to appropriate themoney on the tables.

  Occasionally a little bell would sound, rung by one of the employees inblack frock coat who directed the playing. A chip, a coin, or a banknote had fallen under the table. Suddenly with the promptness of a sceneshifter waiting behind the stage, a lackey dressed in a blue and golduniform appeared, carrying a dark lantern and a hook to rummage aboutamong the players' feet until he found the lost object.

  The discipline observable in these vast rooms was like that on awarship, where everything is in its place and every man at his post. Inorder to make sure that everything was going properly, variousrespectable gentlemen with decorations on their coat lapels, walked backand forth among the tables, with the air of officers on duty. Whenevervoices were raised, these men appeared with rapid strides, to cut s
hortthe arguments in some tactful manner. When two gamblers claimed the samebet, they immediately settled the dispute by paying both. The moneywould finally come back to the house any way!

  According to Atilio, the Casino was honeycombed in all directions withsecret galleries, hidden openings and even trap doors, like the stagefor a comedy of magic--all these for the sake of immediate service, andto avoid any annoyance to the patrons.

  Sometimes the invalid fainted at the table or fell dead through tooviolent emotion. Immediately the wall would open and eject twoattendants with a stretcher who would cause the troublesome body todisappear as though by enchantment. Those at the adjoining table wouldscarcely have a chance to be aware of it.

  At other times it would be a suicide. Lubimoff knew a table called theSuicide Table, because an Englishman had killed himself there inmelodramatic fashion, shooting himself with a pistol when he had losthis last penny. His brains had been scattered in shreds on the greenbaize and on the faces of his neighbors, and even on the frock coats ofthe _croupiers_. There are always people who have no tact, and who donot know how to behave in good society! But the attendants emerged fromthe wall, carried away the corpse, and cleaned the blood from the carpetand table.

  Shortly afterwards, from the oval of people crowding against the greentable, the consecrated words arose: "_Faites vos jeux.... Vos jeux sontfaits?... Rien ne va plus._"

  The Prince recalled the famous suicide bench in the gardens of theCasino. It was all a magazine yarn. No such bench had ever existed. Whenseveral persons killed themselves on the same bench, the administrationhad its position changed immediately! Besides, the number of suicideswas much exaggerated. There were two or three each year, no more.According to Castro, it was no longer the fad to kill one's self atMonte Carlo. It showed an unpardonable lack of taste. The proper thingto do was to go a long way off and disappear without making anycommotion.

  Besides the house police were quick to detect those who were in despair.Such people received a railway ticket at once and they were advised tokill themselves, like good fellows, in Marseilles, or if not so faraway, at least in Nice or Menton.

  Michael was near the "Suicide Table" close to the entrance to theprivate rooms, when he noticed a certain commotion in the crowd. Groupswere seeking one another to exchange news. The old patrons were moved byprofessional feeling. Something important was going on. The Prince knewthe meaning of these sudden bursts of curiosity: a player was winningor losing in remarkable fashion.

  He heard indistinctly a name that brought him to attention.

  "The Duchess de Delille--two hundred thousand francs!"

  All those who had permission to play in the private rooms hurried towardthe large glass door which gave access to them. Michael followed thisliving current.

  He found himself in an enormous hall with a lofty ceiling. On one sidefour large balconies opened out on the terraces, and the Mediterranean.Because of the war they were covered with dark curtains to hide thelight from within. The wall opposite was adorned with various giganticmirrors. On the ceiling seventeen white, full-breasted caryatids,bending under the weight of the roof, supported the wide bands of rockcrystal, with electrical bulbs, which shed a sort of moonlight.

  Those whom curiosity had attracted, passed the first gaming tables withan air of indifference. Everybody was crowding around the last, the"_trente et quarante_," at the foot of a large picture, in which threebuxom lasses in the nude against a background of dark trees like thosein the Boboli Gardens, represented the _Florentine Graces_.

  The great phenomenon was taking place there. Craning his neck above theshoulders of two sightseers, Michael caught a glimpse of Alicia seatedat the table with an anxious expression on her face. All eyes were uponher. In front of her, were heaps of bank notes and many columns ofchips. There were the five hundred franc ovals, and the one thousandfranc squares, "little cakes of soap" as they call the latter, in thelanguage of the Casino.

  Suddenly she raised her head as though realizing instinctively thepresence of some one interesting to her. And her eyes fell straight onMichael. She greeted him with a happy smile. There was the suggestion ofa kiss in her glance. And all the people there, with the submission of amob when dominated by enthusiasm or amazement, followed her eyes to seewho the man was whom the heroine was greeting in this manner. The vanityof the Prince was flattered, as it used to be when some celebratedactress greeted him from the stage and went on singing with her eyesfastened upon him to dedicate to him her trills. Once, when he was aboy, a bull-fighter had bowed to him in a friendly way before giving thefinal death thrust in the arena. Alicia seemed to be choosing him as hergod of luck.

  But immediately she fell back into the deep absorption of the play. Shewas not alone. An invisible and powerful person was standing behind herchair, bending over her to whisper in her ear some word of unfailingcounsel, to suggest some unlooked for resolution, some original anddaring idea. Her eyes, lighted by a mysterious fire, were gazing onsomething that no one else could see. Her mute lips trembled withnervous contractions, as though she were talking with some one who didnot need sound to be able to hear. Michael felt there was a demon-likepower beside her, the inspiration of the unforgettable hours whichreveal to artists a masterful harmony, an illuminating word, or asupreme stroke of the brush; the inspiration which prompts the finalslaughter in battle or the decisive move in some business venture, thatmeans either millions or suicide.

  She had begun to plunge. Her hand carelessly pushed forward a column oftwelve rectangular chips, with an extra oval one: twelve thousand fivehundred francs, the maximum amount that could be risked in "_trente etquarante_." The crowd, with the idolatry which victors inspire, washoping for the Duchess, as though each one expected to share in herwinning. They all knew she was going to win. And when as a matter offact she did win, there was a murmur of satisfaction, a sigh of relieffrom that oval of sightseers pressing against the backs of the chairsoccupied by the players. From time to time she lost, and profoundsilence expressed their sympathy. Sometimes after advancing a column ofchips, she closed her eyes as though listening to some one who remainedinvisible, and moving her head in sign of assent, withdrew the stakes.Once more there arose a murmur of satisfaction, when the public saw thatshe had withdrawn her money just in time, and had scored, as it were, anegative triumph.

  Many of them computed with greedy eyes the sums amassed in front of her.

  "She's in the three hundred thousands already--perhaps she has more--Oh!if she would only succeed in making it millions! What fun it would be tosee her break the bank!"

  To these comments spoken in low tones were added the laudatoryexclamations of a few elderly women who looked at the conqueror withadoring eyes. "How nice she is!--a great lady and so beautiful!--Goodluck to her!"

  A dark shoulder over which the Prince was looking moved and the Princesaw Spadoni's face close to his. The pianist did not show the slightestsurprise; as though they had separated only a few minutes before. He didnot even greet Michael. The astonishment which caused the pupils of hiseyes to dilate, the indignation and envy that this insolent fortuneinspired, made it necessary for the pianist to express his feelings in aprotest.

  "Have you noticed, Highness--she doesn't know how to play--she goesagainst all rules, all logic. She doesn't know the first thing about it,not the first thing!"

  Immediately his eyes returned to the table, forgetting the Prince onhearing once more a stifled outburst from the crowd. A little more andsome of the people would be applauding the repeated triumphs of theDuchess. Those who had lost during the previous days, were rejoicingwith the joy of vengeance. "What an evening! You don't see this everyday." They smiled and nudged each other as they noticed the coming andgoing of the inspectors, the presence of high officials who strove tohide their concern, the long faces of attendants as they returned fromthe head cashier with new packages of one thousand franc chips to paythis lady who had swept the table bare of money three times. The news ofher extraordinary run of luck ci
rculated throughout the entire edifice.At that moment the gentlemen of the management must have been discussingin their offices on the top floor the bad trick that chance had dared toplay them. A mood of anticipation and excitement, akin to the whisperingof a revolution, spread through every nook and cranny. Those who had notickets for the private rooms asked for news from those who were comingout, repeating what they had heard with exaggeration born of enthusiasm.In the wardrobe, in the lavatories, in the inner corridors, in all thesubterranean and winding passageways where the servants, maids andfiremen lived under an eternal electric light, this news shook thesleepy calm of the humbler employees. The atmosphere of excitement wassimilar to that which circulates through the half deserted corridors ofthe Chamber of Deputies while in the semi-circle teeming with emotion, aPrime Minister is fighting to survive a crisis. The news gatheredmomentum as it passed from group to group with that satisfactionmingled with uneasiness which is inspired in employees by the reversesof their employers.

  "It seems that upstairs a Duchess is winning a million--no: now they sayit is two millions."

  And by the time the news had circulated throughout the entire building,the two millions had married and given birth to another. Half an hourlater they were four millions, according to the lesser servants, who hadgrown old living off gambling without ever seeing it at first hand.

  Michael suddenly felt a great wave of anger against the fortunate woman.Since her smile of greeting she had not looked at him again. Severaltimes her eyes had glanced mechanically in his direction, without takingany notice of him. He was merely one of the many curious spectatorswitnessing her triumph. At that moment there were only two things in theworld, the pack of cards and herself.

  Her indifference caused him to feel the indignation of the moralist. Itdid not make any difference to him that Alicia was forgetting him. Herepeated this to himself several times: no, he did not care about that.They were not lovers, nor was there any deep affection between them. Buthow about her son! He remembered that morning a scene with her tears anddespair. And the mother was there abandoning herself completely to thepleasures of chance and with no feeling for anything except herperverted passion.

  If some one had spoken to her about the aviator who was a prisoner, shewould have had to make an effort to recall his existence. And a fewhours before she had wept sincerely on thinking of his imprisonment!

  This was too much for the Prince. His sense of dignity could not acceptthis thoughtlessness! He elbowed his way through a crowd of onlookers,after freeing himself from Spadoni's shoulder, while the latter asthough hypnotized, remained with his eyes fixed on the ever-increasingtreasure of the Duchess.

  Lubimoff began to pace the drawing room. He scorned Alicia'sself-absorption, but lacked the strength to go away. It was necessaryfor him to be near her, perhaps in order to see just how far her slightof him would go.

  He came across a gentleman who was walking about among the tables,beating his hands behind his back and muttering unintelligible words. Itwas his friend Lewis.

  "Have you seen how she plays," he said in a tone of anger, as herecognized the Prince; "like a fool, like a regular fool! They ought notto allow women in here."

  All afternoon he had been losing according to rule and experience. Hedid not have enough money left even for his whiskies and had had tocharge them at the bar. But suddenly he remembered that the Duchess wasa relative of Lubimoff.

  "I am sorry if I offended you, but she plays like an idiot."

  And he turned his back to continue his furious monologue.

  Don Marcos passing in a hurry without seeing the Prince opened a path inthe crowd of onlookers with all the authority of a dressy personage. Hehad just left the gardener's daughter in haste. The news had creptthrough the theater causing many of the spectators to give up seeing theclose of the opera in order to be present at this unheard of run ofluck, which was for them a spectacle of the greatest interest.

  At one of the roulette tables he saw Clorinda who was playingcautiously, with Castro standing behind her chair.

  "The General" had witnessed the first part of her friend's triumph."She's going to lose: this cannot last," she thought each time. Thenshe had moved away from the table, explaining her attitude to Castro andother friends. It was impossible for her to watch Alicia tranquilly asshe risked such heavy stakes. It was more excitement than she couldendure.

  "I hope she wins a great deal, a great deal, indeed," she added with thegenerosity of a friend. "Poor Alicia, she needs it so much! Her affairsare going so badly!"

  She had just seated herself at another table with the faint hope thatluck would remember her, too; but the murmurings which reached her fromthe trente et quarante table, announcing the news of fresh victories,made her nervous and she attributed the loss of several twenty francpieces to this cause. When she found she had lost two hundred, she feltthat she must take her spite out on some one. Atilio, who followed hereverywhere, was standing there, greeting her expressions of bad humorwith an adoring smile.

  "Castro, go away; don't stand there behind me. You must know you bringme bad luck. Go somewhere else."

  The Prince observed how his friend, with a look of annoyance, left thewidow and walked toward the door.

  He thought he would follow him. By talking with Atilio, he might forgetthe irritation which the other woman had caused him; but as he wenttoward the end of the room he had a new surprise.

  In one of the dimly lighted corners he saw Novoa, who was going to spendthe afternoon in Monaco or take a walk on the Nice Road. Perhaps thelatter was true. He might have been waiting for Valeria who was comingback from her luncheon party. They must have both been there for a longtime, in the dark corner, unaware of what was going on about them anddeaf to people's comments.

  The scientist, with his back turned, was unable to see the Prince. Asfor the lady, her eyes were fixed on Novoa with the affectionateseriousness of a girl who has taken advanced studies, has the bachelor'sdegree, and is able to understand a man of science. Michael heard asnatch of the young professor's conversation.

  "And when the glacial currents from the pole reach that spot they takethe place of the warm waters that rise to the surface...."

  He was explaining the formation of the Gulf Stream.

  No one could have guessed it from observing the caressing and timidlyamorous glances behind his glasses.

  She was listening with admiring fervor, but Michael, who knew women,imagined he guessed her real thoughts. She was weighing, with thecunning of a poor girl alone in the world, the possibilities of this manas a husband. He was ignorant of everything not to be learned in books,and she was calculating the modifications necessary to improve theperson of this careless male who always wore a necktie badly tied, andnever pulled up his trousers before sitting down, to keep them frombagging in a grotesque manner.

  Lubimoff spent more than an hour deeply sunk in an armchair in the bar,listening to Castro. The branches of the large trees on the terrace wovesoft shadows like spider webs on the window panes in the twilight dusk.

  Atilio was giving vent to his melancholy by lamenting the meagerness ofthe afternoon tea. On account of the war, burnt almonds and potato chipswere the only gastronomic delicacies to be offered, in this placefrequented by the wealthy.

  The crowd roused in him the same sad reflections. There were peoplethere, but very few compared with the numbers that flocked to MonteCarlo some years before. Then they came in limited trains direct fromVienna, Berlin, and the farthest parts of Europe. The square in front ofthe Casino was a second _Babel_. Around the "Cheese," people of allraces walked up and down, speaking every known language. At present theabsence of the Russians, who were spirited gamblers, was to be lamented,and likewise the absence of the Austrians and the Turks. The lastpersons to be attracted by Monte Carlo were the Germans, but Castro hadseen them come in great numbers during the past few years, applying togambling the same quiet minutely scientific thoroughness of method theyused in military discipline, the
organization of industries, andlaboratory work.

  He was always able to recognize them as soon as they entered the rooms.When they sat down at the table they surrounded themselves with booksand papers: statistics of the most favored numbers of past years,manuals on how to gamble, their own calculations and logarithms thatonly they themselves could understand.

  "They held on to their money more tenaciously than the rest," Atiliocontinued. "They were as patient and tireless as stubborn oxen; but theylost in the end like every one else. Who doesn't lose here--even theCasino, that always wins, is losing now. Before the war it brought in anincome of forty million francs a year. At the present time it clears notmore than three or four millions and since enormous expenses have to becovered, it has had to ask for loans to go on living, the same as aState."

  Michael observed those who were passing through the bar. There was onlyone man for every ten women.

  "That's the war, too," said Castro. "You can see women, womeneverywhere! Before the war, if you recall, even in peace times, theproportion of women was always larger. There are fewer men but they playhigher stakes. They risk their money with more daring; three-fourths ofthe crowd around the tables were composed of women. When women areafraid of love, or disillusioned by it, they give themselves up togambling with passionate intensity. It is the only means they can findto express their imagination. Besides, when one takes into account theirlove of luxury, which is never proportionate to their means, andconsiders the needs of present day women which were unknown to theirgrandmothers.... Look--look over there." He pointed discreetly to a ladyadvanced in years, modestly dressed and with a face that was daubed withrouge, who was being approached with supplicating looks and gestures bytwo other young and elegantly dressed ladies. It was easy to guess thatthey had come in there purely for the sake of discussing some businessaffair, away from the prying eyes in the gambling rooms.

  "They are asking for a loan and she is refusing," Castro continued."Perhaps it is the second or third time in the afternoon. This lady is arival of the old man who wears the Sacred Heart on his lapel. He isquite a character, that old usurer! He began as a waiter in a cafe andmust have some two millions now after thirty years of honorable toil.Everything he owns is to be given to the village of La Turbie, which hasnamed him its benefactor. He pays for images of Saints and has rebuiltthe church----. Notice: the lady is softening. They are going to get theloan."

  The three women had disappeared through the mahogany door leading to thewomen's lavatories. As the loan agent kept her funds in her petticoats,it was necessary for her to pull up her skirts to carry on hernegotiations. Shortly after she came out and walked rapidly in thedirection of the gambling room. She had to go on watching several womento whom she had loaned money, to see if they were winning. The twoyoung women followed her with their purses still open, hurriedlycounting the bank notes they had just received.

  Castro, who had suffered the humiliation of similar operations more thanonce, began bitterly to attack the vice which maintained this enormousedifice and the whole Principality.

  He played to win, played because he was poor; but so many rich peoplecame there and risked the foundations of their well being!

  "Gambling is a functioning of the imagination. That is why you must havenoticed that men with real imagination, writers, and true artists,seldom gamble. Many of them have caused great scandals by theirextraordinary vices, reaching the point of monstrosity. But none of themhave ever distinguished themselves as gamblers. They have other moreexciting subjects to which they may apply their imaginative powers. Onthe other hand the great mass of human beings feel the charm of gamblingand the more commonplace the individual, the more strongly is heattracted by the fascination of chance. Our acts are guided by thedesire of obtaining the maximum of pleasure with a minimum of pain andeffort; and you cannot obtain this better than by gambling. We all obeyour hopes that do what seems most advantageous. We like to exaggeratethe probability that what we most earnestly want to happen will occur,and we end by taking our desires for reality. Every day those who comein here have a feeling of certainty that they will come away taking athousand, twenty thousand, or a hundred thousand francs with them, and,as a matter of cold fact, they come away with empty pockets. It doesn'tmake any difference, they will come back the next day, guided by thesame illusions."

  He stopped talking as though depressed by the thought that he waspainting his own picture. Then he added:

  "What is the difference? Without these illusions, which gently stimulatethe imagination, life would overwhelm us. It is perhaps fortunate for usthat our hopes are not mathematically exact, that our destiny is largelyshaped by luck. Besides, life is short. The future is uncertain; iffortune is to be ours, should we not prepare the way so that it may comeswiftly? And what better way than that of gambling? When we put our hopein some far-off future time, it is not worth much. If we are to win, letit be soon and once for all. Our life is nothing more than a game ofchance. We are gamblers all, even those of us who have never touched acard. Professions, business, and love itself are pure gambles, pureluck, a matter of chance. Cleverness and intelligence may cause our lifegames to turn out favorably, but chance still retains its hold on us,and the luck of an individual is what is most important. To become rich,even in the most stable business enterprises, one must be favored by acombination of extraordinary circumstances, a continual run of luck. Aman never has become rich or celebrated merely on his own merits."

  Lubimoff, one of the world's great millionaires a few years before,nodded his head at this statement.

  "Even Governments keep up the habit of hope in the public by recourse tochance," continued Castro. "There are very few that do not authorize alottery. A person who takes a ticket, buys a little hope and thepossibility, if he has any imagination, of building for a few days everykind of wonderful dream, and feeling deeply stirred at the time of thedrawing. The betterment of our material well-being by means of our ownefforts is a laborious and difficult task; but there is a way to givethe humble a certain relative happiness: by giving them hopes ofbecoming rich, of freeing themselves from every kind of servitude, andof realizing the ideal of freedom to which they aspire. As a matter ofprinciple the State shows itself an enemy of games of chance; andconsiders them immoral because they are based on what is uncertain; butall classes of commercial, financial, and industrial operationsrepresent chance and oftentimes the ruin of one or two parties. They areall games quite similar to the gambling that goes on here." Atiliosmiled ironically before continuing.

  "Let the moralists talk against gambling until they are weary. This muchis certain. The sums that are played on horse races and in the Casinoincrease each year with rapid progression, more rapidly in fact thanpublic wealth. The general improvement in ways of living which isdeveloping, exerts no influence toward decreasing gambling. On the otherhand, the complexity of modern life, with the increase of our needs andwants, favors this passion, and even aggravates it."

  The Prince interrupted him. He was quite right, perhaps, in what he wassaying, but what a degrading vice gambling was! The more reasonablepeople allow themselves to be mastered by it and even lose theirordinary intelligence.

  "That's certain," confessed Atilio. "In gambling our human weaknessesand the tendency which we all have towards superstitions are shown mostclearly. What madness.... Just as though the past could influence thepresent! How many useless efforts to conquer luck! More wealth andimagination has been wasted in the invention of new systems in gamblingthan in the attempt to find perpetual motion--and just as uselessly. Allthese wonderful systems lead the gambler infallibly toward ruin withmore or less rapidity, but always with certainty. And how strong ourfaith is! I feel that it is greater than that of religious martyrs. Whenwe think we have a combination which is sure to win, there is no usetrying to persuade us to the contrary. Nothing can convince us. It iscurious that the failure of his system and the consequent losses neverdiscourage a good gambler. He immediately seizes upon some newcombinatio
n, a true one this time--which will enable him to make afortune--one hope followed by another, and thus he goes on living untildeath overtakes him."

  The melancholy of these last few words was brief. Castro seemed suddenlyto recall something which made him smile.

  "How many inconsistencies in the lives of gamblers! They are not afraidto risk their money and there is no class of people that is more stingy.Notice the women who play most passionately. They are all badly dressed;some of them are often careless about their persons. They must havemoney to gamble, and postpone buying necessities until the next day.There are men who carry their hats in their arms all afternoon in orderto save the ten cents which it costs to leave them in the vestibule ofthe Casino. To-day when I came in I saw an elderly gentleman who waitsfor a friend every day standing by the cloak room window. They leavetheir hats and coats together and that way each one has to pay only fivecents. Later on, at the roulette table, I saw them handling rolls ofthousand-franc bills."

  From the tables people called to the players who were entering the bar:

  "Is she still winning?"

  They referred to the Delille woman. The various reports did not agree.Some of the people seemed indignant: "Yes, she went on winning with luckthat would make you tired." The enthusiasm of the first moment hadvanished. There was a note of envy concealed in words and glances.Others moved by some selfish sentiment were pleased to point to adecline in her marvelous luck. She was losing and winning. Her runs ofluck were not so frequent as in the beginning, but at all events if shewere to stop at once, she might well take away three hundred thousandfrancs.

  Atilio and the Prince noticed Lewis standing at the bar, drinking thewhisky which always restored his peace of mind, and permitted him toresume the complicated systems that were to give him back his paternalinheritance and restore his castle.

  They called to him to inquire about the luck of the Duchess. Lewisshrugged his shoulders with an expression of indignation and protest. Itwas absurd to win like that, playing so badly.

  "She must have the Count's rosary hidden in her skirts," said Atilio,gravely.

  Lewis was puzzled for the moment as though he took the words seriously.Later he blushed like a proper Briton, as he remembered the strangeornaments on his friend's rosary. Suddenly he burst into a violent fitof laughter. "Oh, Mr. Castro!----" Mr. Castro's supposition seemed tohim so witty that he laughed till he nearly choked himself coughing, andthen he decided to get another whisky to regain his serenity.

  The two friends returned to the drawing room of the _Florentine Graces_.

  The Prince saw Novoa and Valeria on the same divan continuing theirconversation, but constantly becoming dreamier as they gazed into eachother's eyes, as though in some deserted spot.

  He came near them without their seeing him, and was able to hear some ofwhat Alicia's companion was saying.

  "I don't know Spain, but I am so interested in it. I adore all of theromantic countries where love is everything, and men are disinterested,where dowries don't exist, and a woman may marry even if she is poor."

  The Prince, in passing, gave the scientist a casual glance of pity.