his thin eager fingers closed upon it.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN.
A WOMAN'S STORY.
When George Stratfield's coffee was brought to his room at the GrandHotel on the following morning there lay upon the tray a note which hadbeen brought by hand. The superscription was in educated unfamiliarwriting, evidently a woman's.
Filled with natural curiosity he tore open the envelope and read thefollowing in French:--
"The writer would esteem it a personal favour if Monsieur Stratfieldwould accord her an interview this evening at any time or place he mayappoint. As the matter is urgent she will be obliged if Monsieur wouldhave the goodness to telegraph a reply addressed to Marie Blanc, PosteRestante, Nice, before noon."
This mysterious communication he re-read several times. Who, hewondered, was Marie Blanc, and what on earth did she want with him?How, indeed, did she know his name? There was a distinct air ofsuspicion about it.
He tossed the strange letter aside, and thoughtfully drank his coffeeand ate his roll.
Then, dressing, he went out, and strolling along the Promenade past thehouse where Liane lived, he thought it over. His first inclination wasnot to heed it. He was sufficiently worried by his own affairs, and hadno desire to be bothered about other people's. Marie Blanc was no doubtsome woman who had seen his name in the visitor's list and wanted theloan of a pound or two. He had heard of such things happening atContinental resorts. No, he would take no notice of it; so he tore thenote into fragments and cast them to the wind.
He had not called upon Liane, or seen her, since their meeting at MonteCarlo. She had forbidden him; and although he had lounged about up anddown the broad walk nearly the whole of the previous day, he had seen nosign of her. Evidently she had not been out, and was purposely avoidinghim.
Her attitude towards him had filled him with grief and dismay. From herinvoluntary utterances it was plain that she still loved him, yet herstrange declaration that it was imperative she should marry Princed'Auzac perplexed him to the verge of madness. He had made inquiryabout this man, and on every hand heard with chagrin reports of his vastwealth, of the brilliance of his fetes, and the charm of hispersonality. He was, without doubt, a prominent figure in Nice society.
To one cause alone was George able to attribute this change in themanner of his well-beloved, the fascination wealth exercises over women.When he compared his own lowly position with that of the man who hadtaken his place in Liane's heart, he sighed, and was plunged into deepdespair. Indeed, that very morning as he lay awake prior to his coffeebeing brought, he reflected whether it would not be wiser to return atonce to London.
But he loved Liane. He would not yet leave her side. She loved him,too, and although this marriage might be forced upon her, yet she wasnevertheless his own well-beloved.
Throughout that morning, in the hope of catching sight of Liane, hesauntered about the Promenade, sat for half-an-hour in thePosada-sur-Mer drinking vermouth, where from the open window he couldwatch each person who passed. But his vigilance remained unrewarded.Time after time he recollected the mysterious request of his unknowncorrespondent, and found himself half inclined to send a telegram andmeet her. It would be an amusing adventure, if nothing else, hethought; and at length, while strolling back to the town, he resolved todo so, and, entering the nearest telegraph office, sent her a reply,asking her to call at his hotel at nine o'clock.
The afternoon he spent lonely and dull. There was, it was true, plentyof amusement going on, but in his frame of mind he was in no mood forconcerts, or the mild form of gambling offered by the Casino Municipal.He sat in the public garden listening to the band until sundown, thenwent for a stroll through the town, dined leisurely, and went to one ofthe small salons in the hotel there to await his visitor.
A few minutes after nine the door was thrown open by one of theservants, behind whom stood a tall, well-dressed lady.
"M'sieur Stra-atfeeld?" she exclaimed interrogatively, with a verypronounced French accent.
"That is my name," he answered, bowing and inviting her into the room.
The spring nights are chilly in Nice, and she was warmly clad in furs,and wore a neat toque with black veil, but even the spotted net wasinsufficient to conceal that an eminently handsome face was beneath.
"Your room is warm and cosy," she exclaimed, when he had placed anarmchair for her. "It is quite cold outside. May I be permitted toremove my cape?"
"Certainly, madame," he answered, still standing near her, a puzzledexpression upon his countenance as she unloosened her sealskin andallowed it to fall over the back of her chair, revealing a trim figurewith narrow waist, neatly attired in black silk, the bodice trimmed withcream.
"You were smoking," she said, with a smile. "Pray do not desist on myaccount. I love tobacco. Indeed, if you offered I would take one ofyour cigarettes--or would you think me very, very shocking?"
"By all means," he laughed. "I shall be delighted if you'll join me,"and he offered her his cigarette-case, and took one himself. Then hestruck a vesta while she raised her veil, disclosing a pretty face andan adorable mouth, and lit up with the air of an inveterate smoker. Herfair hair was, he noticed, well-dressed, and her eyes were dark, butthere was just the faintest suspicion of artificial colouring in theformer, and her cheeks betrayed the use of the hare's foot and carmine.He reflected however, that in a Frenchwoman these little aids to beautymight be forgiven. Her handsome head was well poised, her throat softand well-rounded, her white gloves new, and her dress a model ofcombined neatness and elegance. Her exact age was difficult todetermine, nevertheless she was still young-looking, and possessed the_chic_ of the true Parisienne, which to Englishmen seldom fails to proveattractive.
He made a movement to close the window, but with a pretty pout shedetained him, declaring that the room was a little warm, and at leastfor the present she felt no draught.
He sank back into his chair, and regarded her with an expression half ofcuriosity, half of surprise. Their eyes met. The silence was awkward,and he broke it by apologising for receiving her somewhat abruptly.
"Ah, you bachelors are generally abrupt to unwelcome visitors?" sheanswered in her pleasant broken English, with a low rippling laugh. "Itis only my much abused sex who prevent you from reverting to utterbarbarity. You are not married. Ah, you should have a wife to lookafter you."
"Perhaps I may have one--some day," he answered, smiling at herfrankness.
Slowly she removed the cigarette from her lips, and her gaze wanderedround the brightly-furnished room.
"But you declare yourself to be an unwelcome visitor," he continued."Why?"
For a moment she regarded the end of her cigarette contemplatively, thenturning her dark eyes upon his, answered in a half-apologetic tone--
"Well, you must think my visit here curious, m'sieur. It is.Nevertheless, I trust I may be forgiven for encroaching upon your time,and coming here without introduction. The object of my call is of someconcern to you, inasmuch as it is in the interests of one who lovesyou."
"One who loves me!" he echoed in surprise. "Who?"
"Liane Brooker," answered his fair visitor. "In her interests, and inyours."
"Are you, then, a friend of Liane's?" he inquired, suddenly interested.
"Well, not exactly," she replied, a little evasively he thought.
Then she replaced her cigarette daintily between her lips, and continuedsmoking with that ease and grace acquired by ladies who are in the habitof soothing their nerves with tobacco.
"Are you acquainted with Captain Brooker?" he asked.
"Yes, we have met," she answered. "You know him, of course? He is sucha kind-hearted man, such a thorough Bohemian, yet such a perfectgentleman."
"Unfortunately, I have only met him on one or two occasions," Georgesaid. In an instant it had occurred to him that from his mysteriousvisitor he might learn what Liane and poor Nelly had always refused totell him. "He has lived here, in France, for some years. What
has beenhis profession?"
"Profession!" she exclaimed, raising her dark well shaped eyebrows."What! are you unaware?"
"I am entirely ignorant."
"Well, although a military officer, of late years his chief field ofoperations has been the trente-et-quarante table at Monte Carlo, wherehe is as well-known as--well, as the fat old gentleman who sits in thebureau to examine one's visiting card."
"A gambler!" he cried, in a tone of disbelief.
"Yes, a gambler," she went on. "Few men of late years have lost suchlarge sums so recklessly as he has. Once everybody followed his play,believing him to be a sort of wizard who could divine the cards undealt;but at last his ill-luck became proverbial, and after ruining himself heleft with Liane and Nelly Bridson and
If Sinners Entice Thee Page 30
