Marie Belloc Lowndes - The Chink in the Armour

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And then as she drove to the great railway terminus, from which a hundred
and twenty trains start daily for Lacville, it seemed to Sylvia that the
whole of Paris was placarded with the name of the place she was now about
to visit for the first time!

On every hoarding, on every bare piece of wall, were spread large,
flamboyant posters showing a garish but not unattractive landscape. There
was the sun sparkling on a wide stretch of water edged with high trees,
and gay with little sailing boats, each boat with its human freight of
two lovers. Jutting out into the blue lake was a great white building,
which Sylvia realised must be the Casino. And under each picture ran the
words "Lacville-les-Bains" printed in very black letters.

When she got to the Gare du Nord the same advertisement stared down at
her from the walls of the station and of the waiting-rooms.

It was certainly odd that she had never heard of Lacville, and that the
place had never been mentioned to her by any of those of her English
acquaintances who thought they knew Paris so well.

The Lacville train was full of happy, chattering people. In her
first-class carriage she had five fellow-travellers--a man and woman
and three children. They looked cheerful, prosperous people, and soon
the husband and wife began talking eagerly together.

"I really think," said the lady suddenly, "that we might have chosen some
other place than Lacville in which to spend to-day! There are many places
the children would have enjoyed more."

"But there is no place," said her husband in a jovial tone, "where I can
spend an amusing hour in the afternoon."

"Ah, my friend, I feared that was coming!" exclaimed his wife,
shaking her head. "But remember what happened the last time we were
at Lacville--I mean the afternoon when you lost seventy francs!"

"But you forget that other afternoon!" answered the man eagerly. "I
mean the afternoon when I made a hundred francs, and bought you and
the children a number of delightful little gifts with the money!"

Sylvia was amused. How quaint and odd French people were! She could
not imagine such an interchange of words between an English husband and
wife, especially before a stranger. And then her amusement was further
increased, for the youngest child, a boy of about six, cried out that he
also wished to go to the Casino with his dear papa.

"No, no, my sweet cabbage, that will happen quite soon enough, when thou
art older! If thou art in the least like thy father, there will certainly
come a time when thou also wilt go and lose well-earned money at the
Tables," said his mother tenderly.

"But if I win, then I shall buy thee a present," said the sweet cabbage
coaxingly.

Sylvia looked out of the window. These happy, chattering people made her
feel lonely, and even a little depressed.

The country through which the train was passing was very flat and
ugly--in fact, it could scarcely be called country at all. And when at
last they drew up into the large station of what was once a quiet, remote
village where Parisian invalids, too poor to go elsewhere, came to take
medicinal waters, she felt a pang of disappointment. Lacville, as seen
from the railway, is an unattractive place.

"Is this Madame's first visit to Lacville?" asked her fellow-traveller,
helping her out of the railway carriage. "If so, Madame would doubtless
like to make her way to the lake. Would she care to accompany us
thither?"

Sylvia hesitated. She almost felt inclined to go back to Paris by the
next train. She told herself that there was no hope of finding Anna in
such a large place, and that it was unlikely that this dreary-looking
town would offer anything in the least pleasant or amusing on a very
hot day.

But "It will be enchanting by the lake!" she heard some one say eagerly.
And this chance remark made up her mind for her. After all, she might as
well go and see the lake, of which everyone who mentioned Lacville spoke
so enthusiastically.

Down the whole party swept along a narrow street, bordered by high white
houses, shabby cafes, and little shops. Quite a crowd had left the
station, and they were all now going the same way.

A turn in the narrow street, and Sylvia uttered a low cry of pleasure and
astonishment!

Before her, like a scene in a play when the curtain is rung up, there
suddenly appeared an immense sunlit expanse of water, fringed by high
trees, and bordered by quaint, pretty chalets and villas, fantastic in
shape, and each surrounded by a garden, which in many cases ran down to
the edge of the lake.

To the right, stretching out over the water, its pinnacles and minarets
reflected in blue translucent depths, rose what looked like a great white
marble palace.

"Is it not lovely?" said the Frenchman eagerly. "And the water of the
lake is so shallow, Madame, there is no fear of anyone being drowned in
it! That is such an advantage when one has children."

"And it is a hundred times more charming in the afternoon," his wife
chimed in, happily, "for then the lake is so full of little sailing-boats
that you can hardly see the water. Oh, it is gay then, very gay!"

She glanced at Mrs. Bailey's pretty grey muslin dress and elegant
parasol.

"I suppose Madame is going to one of the great restaurants? As for us,
we shall make our way into a wood and have our luncheon there. It is
expensive going to a restaurant with children."

She nodded pleasantly, with the easy, graceful familiarity which
foreigners show in their dealings with strangers; and, shepherding their
little party along, the worthy pair went briskly off by the broad avenue
which girdles the lake.

Again Sylvia felt curiously alone. She was surrounded on every side by
groups of merry-looking people, and already out on the lake there floated
tiny white-sailed boats, each containing a man and a girl.

Everyone seemed to have a companion or companions; she alone was
solitary. She even found herself wondering what she was doing there in a
foreign country, by herself, when she might have been in England, in her
own pleasant house at Market Dalling!

She took out of her bag the card which the landlord of the Hotel de
l'Horloge had pressed upon her. "Hotel Pension, Villa du Lac, Lacville."

She went up rather timidly to a respectable-looking old bourgeois and his
wife. "Do you know," she asked, "where is the Villa du Lac?"

"Certainly, Madame," answered the old man amiably. "It is there, close to
you, not a hundred yards away. That big white house to our left." And
then, with that love of giving information which possesses so many
Frenchman, he added:

"The Villa du Lac once belonged to the Marquis de Para, who was
gentleman-in-waiting to the Empress Eugenie. He and his family lived on
here long after the war, in fact"--he lowered his voice--"till the
Concession was granted to the Casino. You know what I mean? The Gambling
Concession. Since then the world of Lacville has become rather mixed, as
I have reason to know, for my wife and I have lived here fifteen years.
The Marquis de Para sold his charming villa. He was driven away, like so
many other excellent people. So the Villa du Lac is now an hotel, where
doubtless Madame has friends?"

Sylvia bowed and thanked him. Yes, the Villa du Lac even now looked like
a delightful and well-kept private house, rather than like an hotel. It
stood some way back--behind high wrought-steel and gilt gates--from the
sandy road which lay between it and the lake, and the stone-paved
courtyard was edged with a line of green tubs, containing orange trees.

Sylvia walked through the gates, which stood hospitably open, and when
she was half-way up the horseshoe stone-staircase which led to the front
door, a man, dressed in the white dress of a French chef, and bearing an
almost ludicrous resemblance to M. Girard, came hurrying out.

"Madame Bailey?" he exclaimed joyously, and bowing very low. "Have I the
honour of greeting Madame Bailey? My cousin telephoned to me that you
might be coming, Madame, to dejeuner!" And as Sylvia smiled in assent:
"I am delighted, I am honoured, by the visit of Madame Bailey!"

Sylvia laughed outright. She really could not help it! It was very nice
and thoughtful of M. Girard to have telephoned to his cousin. But how
dreadful it would have been if she had gone straight back to Paris from
the station. All these kind people would have had their trouble for
nothing.

M. Polperro was a shrewd Southerner, and he had had the sense to make
but few alterations to the Villa du Lac. It therefore retained something
of the grand air it had worn in the days when it had been the property
of a Court official. The large, cool, circular hall into which the
hotel-keeper ushered Sylvia was charming, as were the long, finely
decorated reception-rooms on either side.

The dining-room, filled with small oval tables, to which M. Polperro next
led his honoured guest, had been built out since the house had become an
hotel. It commanded a view of the lake on the one side, and of the large,
shady garden of the villa on the other.

"I have arranged for Madame a little table in what we call the lake
window," observed M. Polperro. "As yet Lacville is very empty. Paris is
so delightful," he sighed, "but very soon, when the heat comes, Lacville
will be quite full," he smiled joyously. "I myself have a very choice
clientele--I do not deal with rubbish." He drew himself up proudly. "My
clients come back to me year after year. Already I have six visitors, and
in ten days my pension will be _au grand complet_. It is quality, not
quantity, that I desire, Madame. If ever you know anyone who wishes to
come to Lacville you may safely recommend them--I say it with my hands
on my heart," and he suited his action to his words--"to the Villa du
Lac."

How delightful it all was to Sylvia Bailey! No wonder her feeling of
depression and loneliness vanished.

As she sat down, and looked out of the bay window which commanded the
whole length of the gleaming, sun-flecked lake, she told herself that,
pleasant as was Paris, Lacville on a hot day was certainly a hundred
times pleasanter than Paris.

And the Casino? Sylvia fixed her blue eyes on the white, fairy-like
group of buildings, which were so attractive an addition to the pretty
landscape.

Surely one might spend a pleasant time at Lacville and never play for
money? Though she was inclined to feel that in this matter of gambling
English people are curiously narrow. It was better to be philosophical
about it, like that excellent Frenchwoman in the train, who had not
grudged her husband a little amusement, even if it entailed his losing
what she had described as "hard-earned money."

Though she had to wait nearly half an hour for her meal, the time passed
quickly; and when at last dejeuner was served to her well and deftly by a
pleasant-faced young waitress dressed in Breton costume, each item of the
carefully-prepared meal was delicious. M. Polperro had not been chef to a
Princess for nothing.

Sylvia Bailey was not greedy, but like most healthy people she enjoyed
good food, and she had very seldom tasted quite such good food as that
which was served to her at the Hotel du Lac on this memorable June day.

She had almost finished her luncheon when a fair young man came in and
sat down at a small table situated at the other end of the dining-room,
close to the window overlooking the garden of the Villa du Lac.

CHAPTER IV

As the young man came into the dining-room he glanced over to where Mrs.
Bailey was sitting and then he looked away, and, unfolding his table
napkin, paid no more attention to the only other occupant of the room.

Now this was a very trifling fact, and yet it surprised our young
Englishwoman; she had become accustomed to the way in which Frenchmen, or
perhaps it would be more true to say Parisians, stare at a pretty woman
in the streets, in omnibuses, and in shops. As for the dining-room of the
Hotel de l'Horloge, it always seemed full of eyes when she and Anna
Wolsky were having lunch or dinner there.

Now, for the first time, she found herself close to a Frenchman without
feeling either uncomfortably or amusingly aware of a steady, unwinking
stare. It was quite an odd sensation to find herself thus neglected!

Without actually looking round, Sylvia, out of the corner of her blue
eye, could see this exceptional Frenchman. He was dressed in white
flannels, and he wore rather bright pink socks and a pink tie to match.
He must be, she decided, something of a dandy. Though still a young man,
he was rather bald, and he had a thick fair moustache. He looked bored
and very grave; she could not help wondering why he was staying at
Lacville.

M. Polperro suddenly appeared at the door. "Would M. le Comte prefer
scrambled eggs or an omelette?" he asked obsequiously, and "M. le Comte"
lifted his head and answered shortly, but with a smile, "Scrambled eggs,
my good Polperro."

Doubtless this was the gentleman who was brother-in-law of the French
Duke mentioned by M. Girard. He spoke to the chef with the kindly
familiarity born of long knowledge.

After having given the Count his scrambled eggs, the young waitress came
over to where Sylvia was sitting. "Would Madame like to have her coffee
in the garden?" she asked; and Sylvia said that she would.

How enchanting was the garden of the Villa du Lac, and how unlike any
hotel garden she had ever seen! The smooth, wide lawn was shaded with
noble cedars and bright green chestnut trees; it was paradise compared
with the rather stuffy little Hotel de l'Horloge and the dusty Paris
streets.

M. Polperro himself brought Sylvia's coffee. Then he stayed on talking to
her, for like all clever hotel-keepers the Southerner had the gift of
making those who were staying in his house feel as if they were indeed
his guests rather than his clients.

"If Madame should ever care to make a little stay at Lacville, how happy
Madame Polperro and I would be!" he exclaimed. "I have a beautiful room
overlooking the lake which I could give Madame. It was reserved for a
Russian Princess, but now she is not coming--"

"Perhaps I will come and stay here some day," said Sylvia, and she really
felt as if she would like to come and stay in the Villa du Lac. "But I am
going to Switzerland next week, so it will have to be the next time I
come to France in the summer."

"Does Madame play?" asked M. Polperro, insinuatingly.

"I?" said Sylvia, laughing. "No, indeed! Of course, I play bridge--all
English people play bridge--but I have never gambled, if you mean that,
monsieur, in my life."

"I am delighted to hear Madame say so," said M. Polperro, heartily.
"People now talk of Lacville as if there was only the Casino and the
play. They forget the beautiful walks, the lovely lake, and the many
other attractions we have to offer! Why, Madame, think of the Forest of
Montmorency? In old days it was quite a drive from Lacville, but now a
taxi or an automobile will get you there in a few minutes! Still the
Casino is very attractive too; and all _my_ clients belong to the Club!"

Sylvia stayed on for nearly an hour in the delightful, peaceful garden,
and then, rather regretfully, she went up the lichen-covered steps which
led into the hall. How deliciously cool and quiet it was there.

She paid her bill; it seemed very moderate considering how good her lunch
had been, and then slowly made her way out of the Villa du Lac, down
across the stone-flagged courtyard to the gate, and so into the sanded
road.

Crossing over, she began walking by the edge of the lake; and once more
loneliness fell upon her. The happy-looking people who passed her
laughing and talking together, and the more silent couples who floated by
on the water in the quaint miniature sailing boats with which the surface
of the lake was now dotted, were none of them alone.

Suddenly the old parish church of Lacville chimed out the hour--it was
only one o'clock--amazingly early still!

Someone coming across the road lifted his hat. Could it be to her? Yes,
for it was the young man who had shared with her, for a time, the large
dining-room of the Villa du Lac.

Again Sylvia was struck by what she could only suppose were the
stranger's good manners, for instead of staring at her, as even the
good-humoured bourgeois with whom she had travelled from Paris that
morning had done, the Count--she remembered he was a Count--turned
sharply to the right and walked briskly along to the turning which
led to the Casino.

The Casino? Why, of course, it was there that she must look for Anna
Wolsky. How stupid of her not to have thought of it! And so, after
waiting a moment, she also joined the little string of people who were
wending their way towards the great white building.

After having paid a franc for admission, Sylvia found herself in the hall
of the Casino of Lacville. An eager attendant rushed forward to relieve
her of the dust-cloak and parasol which she was carrying.

"Does Madame wish to go straight to the Room of the Games?" he inquired
eagerly.

Sylvia bent her head. It was there, or so she supposed, that Anna would
be.

Feeling a thrill of keen curiosity, she followed the man through a
prettily-decorated vestibule, and so into a large room, overlooking the
lake, where already a crowd of people were gathered round the green baize
tables.

The Salle des Jeux at Lacville is a charming, conservatory-like
apartment, looking, indeed, as if it were actually built out on the
water.

But none of the people were looking at the beautiful scene outside.
Instead, each group was intent on the table, and on the game being played
thereon--a game, it may be mentioned, which has a certain affinity with
Roulette and Petits Chevaux, though it is neither the one nor the other.

Sylvia looked about her timidly; but no one took the slightest notice of
her, and this in itself was rather strange. She was used to exciting a
good deal of attention wherever she went in France, but here, at
Lacville, everyone seemed blind to her presence. It was almost as if she
were invisible! In a way this was a relief to her; but at the same time,
she found it curiously disconcerting.

She walked slowly round each gambling table, keeping well outside the
various circles of people sitting and standing there.

Strange to say Anna Wolsky was not among them. Of that fact Sylvia soon
became quite sure.

At last a servant in livery came up to her. "Does Madame want a seat?" he
asked officiously. "If so, I can procure Madame a seat in a very few
moments."

But Sylvia, blushing, shook her head. She certainly had no wish to sit
down.

"I only came in to look for a friend," she said, hesitatingly; "but my
friend is not here."

And she was making her way out of the Salle des Jeux, feeling rather
disconsolate and disappointed, when suddenly, in the vestibule, she saw
Madame Wolsky walking towards her in the company of a middle-aged man.

"Then that is settled?" Sylvia heard Anna say in her indifferent French.
"You will fill up all the formalities, and by the time I arrive the card
of membership will be ready for me? This kind of thing"--she waved her
hand towards the large room Sylvia had just left--"is no use to me at
all! I only like _le Grand Jeu_"; and a slight smile came over her dark
face.

The man who was with her laughed as if she had made a good joke; then
bowing, he left her.

"Sylvia!"

"Anna!"

Mrs. Bailey fancied that the other was not particularly sorry to have
been followed.

"So you came after me? Well! Well! I never should have thought to have
seen my dear Puritan, Sylvia Bailey, in such a place as the Casino of
Lacville?" said the Polish lady laughing. "However, as you are here,
let us enjoy ourselves. Would you like to risk a few francs?"

Together they had gone back into the Salle des Jeux, and Anna drew Sylvia
towards the nearest table.

"This is a child's game!" she exclaimed, contemptuously. "I cannot
understand how all these clever Parisians can care to come out here and
lose their money every Saturday and Sunday, to say nothing of other
days!"

"But I suppose some of these people make money?" questioned Sylvia. She
thought she saw a great deal of money being won, as well as lost, on the
green cloth of the table before her.

"Oh yes, no doubt a few may make money at this game! But I have just been
arranging, with the aid of the owner of the Pension where I am going to
stay when I come here, to join the Club."

And then, realising that Sylvia did not understand, she went on.

"You see, my dear child, there are two kinds of play here--as there are,
indeed, at almost every Casino in France. There is _this_ game, which is,
as I say, a child's game--a game at which you can make or lose a few
francs; and then there is Baccarat!"

She waited a moment.

"Yes?" said Sylvia questioningly.

"Baccarat is played here in what they call the Club, in another part of
the building. As there is an entrance fee to the Club, there is never
such a crowd in the Baccarat Room as there is here. And those who belong
to the Club 'mean business,' as they say in your dear country. They come,
that is, to play in the way that I understand and that I enjoy play!"

A little colour rose to Anna Wolsky's sallow cheeks; she looked
exhilarated, excited at the thoughts and memories her words conjured up.

Sylvia also felt curiously excited. She found the scene strangely
fascinating--the scene presented by this crowd of eager men and women,
each and all absorbed in this mysterious game which looked anything
but a child's game, though Anna had called it so.

But as they were trying to make their way through the now dense crowd of
people, the middle-aged man who had been with Anna when Sylvia had first
seen her just now hurried up to them.

"Everything is arranged, Madame!" he exclaimed. "Here is your membership
card. May I have the pleasure of taking you myself to the Club? Your
friend can come too. She does not want to play, does she?"

He looked inquisitively at Sylvia, and his hard face softened. He had
your true Frenchman's pleasure in charm and beauty. "Madame, or is it
Mademoiselle?--"

"Madame!" answered Anna, smiling.

"--Madame can certainly come in and look on for a few moments, even
though she be not a member of the Club."

They turned and followed him up a broad, shallow staircase, into a part
of the Casino where the very atmosphere seemed different from that
surrounding the public gaming tables.

Here, in the Club, all was hushed and quiet, and underfoot was a thick
carpet.

There were very few people in the Baccarat Room, some twelve men, and
four or five ladies who were broken up into groups, and talking with one
another in the intimate, desultory fashion in which people talk who meet
daily in pursuit of some common interest or hobby.

And then, all at once, Sylvia Bailey saw that among them, but standing a
little apart, was the Count--was not his name de Virieu?

He turned round, and as he saw her she thought that a look of surprise,
almost of annoyance, flitted over his impassive face. Then he moved away
from where he could see her.

A peculiar-looking old gentleman, who seemed on kindly terms with
everyone in the room, pulled a large turnip watch out of his pocket. "It
is nearly half-past one!" he exclaimed fussily. "Surely, it is time that
we began! Who takes the Bank to-day?"

"I will," said the Comte de Virieu, coming forward.

Five minutes later play was in full swing. Sylvia did not in the least
understand the game of Baccarat, and she would have been surprised indeed
had she been told that the best account of it ever written is that which
describes it as "neither a recreation nor an intellectual exercise, but
simply a means for the rapid exchange of money well suited to persons of
impatient temperament."

With fascinated eyes, Sylvia watched Anna put down her gold pieces on the
green cloth. Then she noted the cards as they were dealt out, and
listened, it must be admitted, uncomprehendingly, to the mysterious words
which told how the game was going. Still she sympathised very heartily
with her friend when Anna's gold pieces were swept away, and she rejoiced
as heartily when gold was added to Anna's little pile.

They both stood, refusing the seats which were pressed upon them.

Suddenly Sylvia Bailey, looking up from the green cloth, saw the eyes of
the man who held the Bank fixed full upon her.

The Comte de Virieu did not gaze at the young English woman with the
bold, impersonal stare to which she had become accustomed--his glance was
far more thoughtful, questioning, and in a sense kindly. But his eyes
seemed to pierce her through and through, and suddenly her heart began
to beat very fast. Yet no colour came into her face--indeed, Sylvia grew
pale.

She looked down at the table, but even so she remained conscious of that
piercing gaze turned on her, and with some surprise she found herself
keenly visualising the young man's face.

Alone among all the people in the room, the Comte de Virieu looked as if
he lived a more or less outdoor life; his face was tanned, his blue eyes
were very bright, and the hands dealing out the cards were well-shaped
and muscular. Somehow he looked very different, she could hardly explain
how or why, from the men round him.

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