Marie Belloc Lowndes - The Chink in the Armour

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At last she moved round, so as to avoid being opposite to him.

Yes, she felt more comfortable now, and slowly, almost insensibly, the
glamour of play began to steal over Sylvia Bailey's senses. She began to
understand the at once very simple and, to the uninitiated, intricate
game of Baccarat--to long, as Anna Wolsky longed, for the fateful nine,
eight, five, and four to be turned up.

She had fifty francs in her purse, and she ached to risk a gold piece.

"Do you think I might put down ten francs?" she whispered to Anna.

And the other laughed, and exclaimed, "Yes, of course you can!"

Sylvia put down a ten-franc piece, and a moment later it had become
twenty francs.

"Leave it on," murmured Anna, "and see what happens--"

Sylvia followed her friend's advice, and a larger gold piece was added to
the two already there.

She took up the forty francs with a curious thrill of joy and fear.

But then an untoward little incident took place. One of the liveried
men-servants stepped forward. "Has Madame got her card of membership?"
he inquired smoothly.

Sylvia blushed painfully. No, she had not got a card of membership--and
there had been an implied understanding that she was only to look on, not
play.

She felt terribly ashamed--a very unusual feeling for Sylvia Bailey--and
the gold pieces she held in her hand, for she had not yet put them in her
purse, felt as if they burnt her.

But she found a friend, a defender in an unexpected quarter. The Count
rose from the table. He said a few words in a low tone to the servant,
and the man fell back.

"Of course, this young lady may play," he addressed Anna, "and as Banker
I wish her all good luck! This is probably her first and her last visit
to Lacville." He smiled pleasantly, and a little sadly. Sylvia noticed
that he had a low, agreeable voice.

"Take her away, Madame, when she has won a little more! Do not give her
time to lose what she has won."

He spoke exactly as if Sylvia was a child. She felt piqued, and Madame
Wolsky stared at him rather haughtily. Still, she was grateful for his
intervention.

"We thank you, Monsieur," she said stiffly. "But I think we have been
here quite long enough."

He bowed, and again sat down.

"I will now take you a drive, Sylvia. We have had sufficient of this!"

Anna walked towards the door, and many were the curious glances now
turned after the two friends.

"It will amuse you to see something of Lacville. As that gentleman said,
I do not suppose you will ever come here again. And, as I shall spend
most of my time in the Casino, I can very well afford to spare a little
while out of it to-day!"

They made their way out of the great white building, Sylvia feeling
oppressed, almost bewildered, by her first taste of gambling.

It was three o'clock, and very hot. They hailed one of the little open
carriages which are among the innocent charms of Lacville.

"First you will go round the lake," said Madame Wolsky to the driver,
"and then you will take us to the Pension Malfait, in l'Avenue des
Acacias."

Under shady trees, bowling along sanded roads lined with pretty villas
and chalets, they drove all round the lake, and more and more the place
impressed Sylvia as might have done a charming piece of scene-painting.

All the people they passed on the road, in carriages, in motor-cars, and
on foot, looked happy, prosperous, gay, and without a care in the world;
and where in the morning there had been one boat, there were now five
sailing on the blue, gleaming waters fringed with trees and flowering
shrubs.

At last they once more found themselves close to the Casino. A steady
stream of people was now pouring in through the great glass doors.

"This sort of thing will go on up till about nine this evening!"
said Anna, smiling grimly. "Think, my dear--a hundred and twenty trains
daily! That room in the Casino where I first saw you will be crammed to
suffocation within an hour, and even the Club will be well filled, though
I fancy the regular habitues of the club are rather apt to avoid Saturday
and Sunday at Lacville. I myself, when living here, shall try to do
something else on those two days. By the way--how dreadful that I should
forget!--have you had a proper _dejeuner_?" she looked anxiously at
Sylvia.

Sylvia laughed, and told something of her adventures at the Villa du Lac.

"The Villa du Lac? I have heard of it, but surely it's an extremely
expensive hotel? The place I've chosen for myself is farther away from
the Casino; but the distance will force me to take a walk every day, and
that will be a very good thing. Last time I was at Monte Carlo I had a
lodging right up in Monaco, and I found that a very much healthier plan
than to live close to the Casino," Anna spoke quite seriously. "The
Pension Malfait is really extraordinarily cheap for a place near Paris.
I am only going to pay fifty-five francs a week, _tout compris_!"

They had now turned from the road encircling the lake, and were driving
through leafy avenues which reminded Sylvia of a London suburb where she
had once stayed.

The chalets and villas by which they passed were not so large nor so
prosperous-looking as those that bordered the lake, but still many of
them were pretty and fantastic-looking little houses, and the gardens
were gay with flowers.

"I suppose no one lives here in the winter!" said Sylvia suddenly.

She had noticed, for in some ways she was very observant though in other
ways strangely unseeing, that all the flowers were of the bedding-out
varieties; there were luxuriant creepers, but not a single garden that
she passed had that indefinable look of being an old or a well-tended
garden.

"In the winter? Why, in the winter Lacville is an absolute desert," said
Anna laughing. "You see, the Casino only has a summer Concession; it
cannot open till April 15. Of course there are people who will tell you
that Lacville is the plague-pit of Paris, but that's all nonsense!
Lacville is neither better nor worse than other towns near the capital!"

The carriage had now drawn up before a large, plain, white house, across
which was painted in huge, black letters, "Hotel-Pension Malfait."

"This is the place I have found!" exclaimed Anna. "Would you care to come
in and see the room I've engaged from next Monday week?"

Sylvia followed her into the house with curiosity and interest. Somehow
she did not like the Pension Malfait, though it was clear that it had
once been a handsome private mansion standing in large grounds of its
own. The garden, however, had now been cut down to a small strip, and the
whole place formed a great contrast to the gay and charming Villa du Lac.

What garden there was seemed uncared for, though an attempt had been made
to make it look pretty with the aid of a few geraniums and marguerites.

M. Malfait, the proprietor of the Pension, whom Sylvia had already seen
with Anna at the Casino, now came forward in the hall, and Sylvia
compared him greatly to his disadvantage, to the merry M. Polperro.

"Madame has brought her friend?" he said eagerly, and staring at Sylvia
as he spoke. "I hope that Madame's friend will come and stay with us too?
I have a charming room which I could give this lady; but later on we
shall be very full--full all the summer! The hot weather is a godsend
for Lacville; for it drives the Parisians out from their unhealthy city."

He beckoned to his wife, a disagreeable-looking woman who was sitting in
a little glass cage made in an angle of the square hall.

"Madame Wolsky has brought this good lady to see our Pension!" he
exclaimed, "and perhaps she is also coming to stay with us--"

In vain Sylvia smilingly shook her head. She was made to go all over the
large, rather gloomy house, and to peep into each of the bare, ugly
bed-rooms.

That which Anna had engaged had a window looking over the back of the
house; Sylvia thought it singularly cheerless. There was, however, a good
arm-chair and a writing-table on which lay a new-looking blotter. It was
the only bed-room containing such a luxury.

"An English lady was staying here not very long ago," observed M.
Malfait, "and she bought that table and left it to me as a little gift
when she went away. That was very gracious on her part!"

They glanced into the rather mournful-looking _salon_, of which the
windows opened out on the tiny garden. And then M. Malfait led them
proudly into the dining-room, with its one long table, running down the
middle, on which at intervals were set dessert dishes filled with the
nuts, grapes, and oranges of which Sylvia had already become so weary at
the Hotel de l'Horloge.

"My clientele," said M. Malfait gravely, "is very select and _chic_.
Those of my guests who frequent the Casino all belong to the Club!"

He stated the fact proudly, and Sylvia was amused to notice that in this
matter he and mine host at the Villa du Lac apparently saw eye to eye.
Both were eager to dissociate themselves from the ordinary gambler who
lost or won a few francs in those of the gambling rooms open to the
general public.

"Well," said Anna at last, "I suppose we had better leave now, but we
might as well go on driving for about an hour, and then, when it is a
little cooler, we will go back to Paris and be there in time for tea."

The driver was as good-natured as everyone else at Lacville seemed to be.
He drove his fares away from the town, and so to the very outskirts of
Lacville, where there were many charming bits of wild woodland and
gardens up for sale.

"Even five years ago," he said, "much of this was forest, Mesdames; but
now--well, Dame!--you can understand people are eager to sell. There are
rumours that the Concession may be withdrawn from the Casino--that would
be terrible, some say it would kill Lacville! It would be all the same to
me, I should always find work elsewhere. But it makes everyone eager to
sell--those, I mean, who have land at Lacville. There are others,"
continued the man--he had turned round on his seat, and the horse was
going at a foot's pace--"who declare that it would be far better for the
town--that there would be a more solid population established here--you
understand, Mesdames, what I mean? The Lacville tradesmen would be as
pleased, quite as pleased, or so some of them say; but, all the same,
they are selling their land!"

When the two friends finally got back to the Hotel de l'Horloge, Sylvia
Bailey found that a letter, which had not been given to her that morning,
contained the news that the English friends whom she had been expecting
to join in Switzerland the following week had altered their plans, and
were no longer going abroad.

CHAPTER V

Sylvia could hardly have said how it came about that she found herself
established in the Villa du Lac only a week after her first visit to
Lacville! But so it was, and she found the change a delightful one from
every point of view.

Paris had suddenly become intolerably hot. As is the way with the Siren
city when June is half-way through, the asphalt pavements radiated heat;
the air was heavy, laden with strange, unpleasing odours; and even the
trees, which form such delicious oases of greenery in the older quarters
of the town were powdered with grey dust.

Also Anna Wolsky had become restless--quite unlike what she had been
before that hour spent by her and by Sylvia Bailey in the Club at
Lacville; she had gone back there three times, refusing, almost angrily,
the company of her English friend. For a day or two Sylvia had thought
seriously of returning to England, but she had let her pretty house at
Market Dalling till the end of August; and, in spite of the heat, she did
not wish to leave France.

Towards the end of the week Anna suddenly exclaimed:

"After all, why shouldn't you come out to Lacville, Sylvia? You can't go
to Switzerland alone, and you certainly don't want to go on staying in
Paris as Paris is now! I do not ask you to go to the Pension Malfait, but
come to the Villa du Lac. You will soon make acquaintances in that sort
of place--I mean," she added, "in your hotel, not in the town. We could
always spend the mornings together--"

"--And I, too, could join the Club at the Casino," interjected Sylvia,
smiling.

"No, no, I don't want you to do that!" exclaimed Anna hastily.

And then Sylvia, for some unaccountable reason, felt rather irritated. It
was absurd of Anna to speak to her like that! Bill Chester, her trustee,
and sometime lover, always treated her as if she was a child, and a
rather naughty child, too; she would not allow Anna Wolsky to do so.

"I don't see why not!" she cried. "You yourself say that there is no harm
in gambling if one can afford it."

* * * * *

This was how Sylvia Bailey came to find herself an inmate of the Villa du
Lac at Lacville; and when once the owner of the Hotel de l'Horloge had
understood that in any case she meant to leave Paris, he had done all in
his power to make her going to his relation, mine host of the Villa du
Lac, easy and agreeable.

Sylvia learnt with surprise that she would have to pay very little more
at the Villa du Lac than she had done at the Hotel de l'Horloge; on the
other hand, she could not there have the use of a sitting-room, for the
good reason that there were no private sitting-rooms in the villa. But
that, so she told herself, would be no hardship, and she could spend
almost the whole of the day in the charming garden.

The two friends arrived at Lacville late in the afternoon, and on a
Monday, that is on the quietest day of the week. And when Anna had
left Sylvia at the Villa du Lac, driving off alone to her own humbler
_pension_, the young Englishwoman, while feeling rather lonely, realised
that M. Polperro had not exaggerated the charm of his hostelry.

Proudly mine host led Mrs. Bailey up the wide staircase into the
spacious, airy room which had been prepared for her. "This was the
bed-chamber of Madame la Comtesse de Para, the friend of the Empress
Eugenie" he said.

The windows of the large, circular room, mirror-lined, and still
containing the fantastic, rather showy decorations which dated from the
Second Empire, overlooked the broad waters of the lake. Even now, though
it was still daylight, certain romantic-natured couples had lit paper
lanterns and hung them at the prows of their little sailing-boats.

The scene had a certain fairy-like beauty and stillness.

"Madame will find the Villa du Lac far more lively now" exclaimed M.
Polperro cheerfully. "Last week I had only M. le Comte Paul de Virieu--no
doubt Madame has heard of his brother-in-law, the Duc d'Eglemont?"

Sylvia smiled. "Yes, he won the Derby, a famous English race," she said;
and then, simply because the landlord's love of talking was infectious,
"And does the Count own horses, too?" she asked.

"Oh, no, Madame. He loves them, yes, and he is a fine horseman, but Count
Paul, alas! has other things that interest and occupy him more than
horses!"

After M. Polperro had bowed himself out, Sylvia sat down close to one of
the open windows and looked out over the enchanting, and to her English
eyes, unusual panorama spread out before her.

Yes, she had done well to come here, to a place of which, no doubt, many
of her English friends would have thoroughly disapproved! But, after all,
what was wrong about Lacville? Where, for the matter of that, was the
harm of playing for money if one could afford to lose it?

Sylvia had hardly ever met so kind or so intelligent a woman as was
her new friend, Anna Wolsky: and Anna--she made no secret of it at
all--allowed playing for money to be her one absorbing interest in life.

As she thought of the Polish woman Sylvia felt sorry that she and her
friend were in different _pensions_. It would have been so nice to have
had her here, in the Villa du Lac. She felt rather lost without Anna, for
she had become accustomed to the other's pleasant, stimulating
companionship.

M. Polperro had said that dinner was at half-past seven. Sylvia got up
from her chair by the window. She moved back into the room and put on a
pretty white lace evening dress which she had not worn since she had been
in France.

It would have been absurd to have appeared in such a gown in the little
dining-room of the Hotel de l'Horloge, which opened into the street; but
the Villa du Lac was quite different.

As she saw herself reflected in one of the long mirrors let into the
wall, Sylvia blushed and half-smiled. She had suddenly remembered the
young man who had behaved, on that first visit of hers to the Villa du
Lac, so much more discreetly than had all the other Frenchmen with whom
she had been brought in temporary contact. She was familiar, through
newspaper paragraphs, with the name of his brother-in-law, the French
duke who had won the Derby. The Duc d'Eglemont, that was the racing
French duke who had carried off the blue riband of the British Turf--the
other name was harder to remember--then it came to her. Count Paul de
Virieu. How kind and courteous he had been to her and her friend in
the Club. She remembered him very vividly. Yes, though not exactly
good-looking, he had fine eyes, and a clever, if not a very happy, face.

And then, on going down the broad, shallow staircase, and so through the
large, oval hall into the dining-room, Sylvia Bailey saw that the man of
whom she had been thinking was there, sitting very near to where she
herself was now told that she was to sit. In the week that had gone by
since Sylvia had paid her first visit to Lacville, the Villa had
gradually filled up with people eager, like herself, to escape from the
heat and dust of Paris, and the pleasant little table by the window had
been appropriated by someone else.

When the young Englishwoman came into the dining-room, the Comte de
Virieu got up from his chair, and clicking his heels together, bowed low
and gravely.

She had never seen a man do that before. And it looked so funny! Sylvia
felt inclined to burst out laughing. But all she did was to nod gravely,
and the Count, sitting down, took no further apparent notice of her.

There were a good many people in the large room; parties of two, three,
and four, talking merrily together, as is the way with French people at
their meals. No one was alone save the Comte de Virieu and herself.
Sylvia wondered if he felt as lonely as she did.

Towards the end of dinner the host came in and beamed on his guests; then
he walked across to where Mrs. Bailey sat by herself. "I hope Madame is
satisfied with her dinner," he said pleasantly. "Madame must always tell
me if there is anything she does not like."

He called the youngest of the three waitresses. "Felicie! You must look
very well after Madame," he said solemnly. "Make her comfortable, attend
to her slightest wish"--and then he chuckled--"This is my niece," he
said, "a very good girl! She is our adopted daughter. Madame will only
have to ask her for anything she wants."

Sylvia felt much happier, and no longer lonely. It was all rather
absurd--but it was all very pleasant! She had never met an hotel keeper
like little Polperro, one at once so familiar and so inoffensive in
manner.

"Thank you so much," she said, "but I am more than comfortable! And after
dinner I shall go to the Casino to meet my friend, Madame Wolsky."

After they had finished dinner most of M. Polperro's guests streamed out
into the garden; and there coffee was served to them on little round iron
tables dotted about on the broad green lawn and sanded paths.

One or two of the ladies spoke a kindly word to Sylvia as they passed by
her, but each had a friend or friends, and she was once more feeling
lonely and deserted when suddenly Count Paul de Virieu walked across to
where she was sitting by herself.

Again he clicked his heels together, and again he bowed low. But already
Sylvia was getting used to these strange foreign ways, and she no longer
felt inclined to laugh; in fact, she rather liked the young Frenchman's
grave, respectful manner.

"If, as I suppose, Madame, seeing that you have come back to Lacville--"

Sylvia looked up with surprise painted on her fair face, for the Count
was speaking in English, and it was extremely good, almost perfect
English.

"--and you wish to join the Club at the Casino, I hope, Madame, that you
will allow me to have the honour of proposing you as a member."

He waited a moment, and then went on: "It is far better for a lady to be
introduced by someone who is already a member, than for the affair to be
managed"--he slightly lowered his voice--"by an hotel keeper. I am well
known to the Casino authorities. I have been a member of the Club for
some time--"

He stood still gazing thoughtfully down into her face.

"But I am not yet sure that I shall join the Club," said Sylvia,
hesitatingly.

He looked--was it relieved or sorry?

"I beg your pardon, Madame! I misunderstood. I thought you told M.
Polperro just now in the dining-room that you were going to the Casino
this evening."

Sylvia felt somewhat surprised. It was odd that he should have overheard
her words to M. Polperro, amid all the chatter of their fellow-guests.

"Yes, I am going to the Casino," she said frankly, "but only to meet a
friend of mine there, the lady with whom I was the other day when you so
kindly interfered to save us, or rather to save _me_, from being
ignominiously turned out of the Club." And then she added, a little
shyly, "Won't you sit down?"

Again the Comte de Virieu bowed low before her, and then he sat down.

"I fear you will not be allowed to go into the Club this time unless you
become a member. They have to be very strict in these matters; to allow a
stranger in the Club at all is a legal infraction. The Casino authorities
might be fined for doing so."

"How well you speak English!" exclaimed Sylvia, abruptly and
irrelevantly.

"I was at school in England," he said, simply, "at a Catholic College
called Beaumont, near Windsor; but now I do not go there as often as
I should like to do."

And then, scarcely knowing how it came about, Sylvia fell into easy,
desultory, almost intimate talk with this entire stranger. But there was
something very agreeable in his simple serious manners.

After a while Sylvia suddenly remembered that the Count had thrown his
cigarette away before speaking to her.

"Won't you smoke?" she said.

"Are you sure you don't mind, Madame?"

"No, of course I don't mind!" and she was just going to add that her
husband had been a great smoker, when some feeling she could not have
analysed to herself made her alter her words to "My father smoked all day
long--"

The Count got up and went off towards the house. Sylvia supposed he had
gone to get his cigarette-case; but a moment later he came back and sat
down by her again. And then very soon out came the host's pretty little
niece with a shawl over her arm. "I have brought Madame a shawl," said
the girl, smiling, "for it's getting a little cold," and Sylvia felt
touched. How very kind French people were--how kind and how thoughtful!

It struck half-past eight. Mrs. Bailey and the Comte de Virieu had been
talking for quite a long time.

Sylvia jumped up. "I must go now," she cried, a little regretfully. "I
promised to meet my friend in the hall of the Casino at half-past eight.
She must be there waiting for me, now."

"If you will allow me to do so, I will escort you to the Casino," said
the Count.

Sylvia ran upstairs to put on her hat and gloves. On the table which did
duty for a dressing-table there was a small nosegay of flowers in a glass
of water. It had not been there before she had come down to dinner.

As she put on a large black tulle hat she told herself with a happy smile
that Lacville was an enchanting, a delightful place, and that she already
felt quite at home here!

The Comte de Virieu was waiting for her in the hall.

"I think I ought to introduce myself to you, Madame," he said solemnly.
"My name is Paul de Virieu."

"And mine is Sylvia Bailey," she said, a little breathlessly.

As they were hurrying along the short piece of road which led to the lane
in which the Casino of Lacville is situated, the Count said suddenly,
"Will you pardon me, Madame, if I take the liberty of saying that you
should arrange for your friend to call for you on those evenings that you
intend to spend at the Casino? It is not what English people call
'proper' for you to go to the Casino alone, or only accompanied by
a stranger--for I, alas! am still a stranger to you."

There was no touch of coquetry or flirtation in the voice in which he
said those words. Sylvia blushed violently, but she did not feel annoyed,
only queerly touched by his solicitude for--well, she supposed it was for
her reputation.

"You see, Madame," he went on soberly, "you look very young--I mean,
pardon me, you _are_ very young, and I will confess to you that the first
time I saw you I thought you were a 'Miss.' Of course, I saw at once that
you were English."

"An English girl would hardly have come all by herself to Lacville!" said
Sylvia a little flippantly.

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