memoryas consolation. So it is with you, George," he added. "It may be, asyou fear, that Liane Brooker has grown weary, yet remember the old adagethat a woman's mind and winter wind change oft, and reflect that ifafter her solemn vow to you she breaks her pledge, she is unworthy."
"I know," he answered. "Nevertheless she is my well-beloved."
"So to me was the woman of whom I have just spoken," he answered."Nevertheless, that did not prevent me marrying ten years later andliving in perfect happiness with my wife till her death six years ago.No, the thought of the past is the privilege of all men. I admit thatit is doubly hard in your case that, having sacrificed your fortune forsake of her, you should now find yourself being slowly replaced in herheart by some other man. Nevertheless, I repeat I am not surprised."
"But you sympathise with me, although I speak so foolishly," he said,half apologetically.
"It is no foolish talk," Harrison replied. "There is surely nofoolishness in discussing a matter that so closely concerns a man'sfuture," he said. "Of course you have my most sincere sympathy, and ifat any time I can offer advice or render assistance, then command me."
"You are extremely good," the young man replied. "The mysterysurrounding Liane, the tragic death of Nelly Bridson, the discovery ofthe missing miniature, and the unfortunate girl's acquaintance with thisunknown woman whom my father designated as my wife, form an enigma ofwhich, try how I will, I am unable to obtain any elucidation. Throughall these months not a single important fact has come to light."
"True. It's an extraordinary affair altogether," Harrison acquiesced,replacing the inquiry agent's report in his breast-pocket. "But I stillhope we may discover Mariette Lepage, and through her we shall certainlybe able to learn something. Until then, we must remain patient."
The pained, thoughtful expression that had rested upon his face, whilehe had been telling George the romance of his life, had been succeededby that keen business-like air he always wore. He was again the plain,matter-of-fact lawyer, with his clean-shaven aquiline face, his coldsteel-blue eyes and thin lips that gave those who did not know him animpression of almost ascetic austerity.
George Stratfield made no answer, but when a few minutes later hisvisitor had gone, after placing his hand sympathetically upon hisshoulder and bidding him bear up against misfortune, he cast himselfagain into his chair and sat immovable, heedless of everything save theone woman who was his idol.
CHAPTER EIGHT.
THE PROMENADE DES ANGLAIS.
Nice, the town of violets and mimosa, of confetti, of gay dominoes andpretty women, is at its best in February, white, clean, and ready forthe reception of its most welcome guest, King Carnival. While Englandis still gloomy with rain and fogs, and wintry winds still moan throughthe bare branches, the weather is already summer-like, with brightsunshine, soft warm breezes, and a sea of that intense sapphire bluewhich only the Mediterranean can assume. Little wonder it is that thegay world of every European capital should flock to Nice, so mild is itsclimate, and so many and unique are its attractions.
Superbly situated on the broad beautiful Bay of Anges, with thepromontories of Ferrat and Antibes jutting out in the far distance oneither side, and sheltered by the lower terraces of the Maritime Alps,it presents a handsome appearance, with the heights of Cimiez and otherfertile olive-clad hills forming a fitting background. Close to thesea, in the centre of the town, is the pretty Jardin Public, with itscascade and cavern of hanging stalactites, and behind is the fine PlaceMassena, wherein stands the handsome white Casino Municipal, while alongthe coast to the right stretches the world-famed Promenade des Anglais,a magnificent esplanade bordered by palatial hotels and villas, alluniformly white, the roadway planted with palms, oranges, cypresses andaloes, and laid out with beds of sweet-smelling flowers.
Although February, the oranges are ripe, and roses and carnations arealready in full blossom; the Jardin Public is a blaze of brilliantcolour, and as one turns from the Promenade into the clean white streetsthe fragrance of violets hawked in huge bunches at four sous by theflower-girls greets the nostrils at every corner. Nice is indeed a townof flowers. The garden of each villa is full of them--almost everyperson in the street wears a buttonhole or carries violets, theflorists' shops diffuse the odour of mimosa and roses far and near, andeven the confectioners sell dainty little round boxes of violets androses crystallised in sugar. In those spring days Nice is verily inCarnival mood. Her hotels are full, her shops display the daintiestfabrics possible, and as to hats and sunshades--for both of which thetown is famous--it is doubtful whether such daring feats of millinery,as fetching as they are audacious, can be found in any city or any climethe world over. Certainly nowhere else is there a brighter or moreanimated scene than that witnessed on the cemented footway of thePromenade des Anglais on a February morning. Furs have long ago beendiscarded, and silk blouses and sunshades testify to the warmth of thebrilliant sun, while the male portion of the visitors are attired instraw hats and suits of summer tweed. Truly cosmopolitan and polyglotis that chattering throng. One rubs shoulders with barons, counts andhighnesses of every nationality, and hears every European languageuttered by gay laughing lips; the sibilant French of the daintyParisienne, the musical Italian, the guttural German, the rapid Englishand the slow Russian, all combine to make a veritable Babel of tongues,while by the costumes alone, many of them marvellous creations of thefamous men-dressmakers, the race of their wearers may usually bedetermined. Fashionable Europe is making happy holiday amid prematuresummer.
Amid this chattering crowd of pleasure-seekers Liane was strollingbeside Prince Zertho one morning a fortnight after old Mr Harrison hadvisited George in his dingy London chambers. Gowned in pearl grey, thefitting of which bore the impress of the Parisian costumier, and with alarge hat to match, she walked on, chatting, laughing, and ever and anonbowing to those she knew; while the Prince, in black jacket suit andsoft felt hat of silver-grey, lounged leisurely along beside her,smoking a cigarette, and listening amusedly to her light, vivaciousgossip. Her appearance was entirely different to the trim,neatly-dressed girl who, in cotton blouse and shabby skirt, had cycledover the level Berkshire roads. With her pure and perfect French, herslim waist girdled narrow, her _chevelure_ as carefully arranged as ifby a maid of the first order, one might have easily mistaken her for atrue Parisienne. Her beautiful face, combined with her delightful_chic_, caused many to turn and glance after her as she passed, a factnot unnoticed by her companion.
Her cheeks, no longer wan as they had been at Stratfield Mortimer, wereagain flushed with health; her eyes sparkled with pleasure as she becameconscious of the profound admiration she everywhere evoked, and in herfootstep was the lightness of one in whose heart there lurked no shadow.
The day was perfect. Both sea and sky were of a deep, intense blue, thelong line of sun-blanched villas and hotels were gay with visitors, thetrees wore their freshest green, and the sweet scent of violets pervadedeverything. As they walked, Zertho was reflecting how striking was herbeauty, even among that crowd of Europe's prettiest and wealthiestwomen.
Through November and December she and her father had remained in Paris,and early in the new year had travelled down to Nice, taking up theirquarters at a small select "pension" in one of the large white villaswhich, standing in its own pretty garden planted with oranges, palms androses, faced the Mediterranean at the end of the Promenade towards theMagnan, while close by them Zertho occupied the handsome Villa Chevrier,a great white house with palms in front, which also faced the sea at thecorner of the Rue Croix de Magnan.
In Nice a wealthy man can, if he desires, easily obtain a largecosmopolitan circle of friends, therefore, the villa of Prince Zerthod'Auzac quickly became a social centre, for his entertainments beingupon a scale almost unequalled, he found no lack of acceptances to hisinvitations. Everyone in Nice soon knew him by sight; the well-informed_Petit Nicois_ mentioned him almost daily in its "Echoes de Partout,"the _Swiss and Nice Times_ devoted whole columns to desc
riptions of hisfetes and lists of his guests, among which figured many well-knownnames, and the _Phare du Littoral_ was loud in its praises of hisdinners, his driving parties, and the dances at his house. Well-groomedand usually attired in a dark suit, he walked in the Avenue de la Gare,drove tandem with Liane at his side along the Promenade, rode hisunmatched bay on the Corniche Road, or strolled about the Casino, andwas everywhere recognised, for he was indeed the man of the hour.
He smiled, however, when he recollected how, two years before, he hadoccupied an apartment "au troisieme" in the narrow noisy Rue de France,while Liane, Nellie and the Captain had lived equally precariously inthe Rue Dalpozzo, close by. Often dependent on his wits for a meal hehad more than once, he remembered, strolled out upon that same Promenadewhere he now walked with Liane, in search of some
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