The Chink in the Armour Read online

  CHAPTER VI

  On waking the next morning, Sylvia Bailey forgot completely for a momentwhere she was.

  She looked round the large, airy room, which was so absolutely unlike thesmall bed-room she had occupied in the Hotel de l'Horloge, with a senseof bewilderment and surprise.

  And then suddenly she remembered! Why of course she was at Lacville; andthis delightful, luxurious room had been furnished and arranged for thelady-in-waiting and friend of the Empress Eugenie. The fact gave an addedtouch of romance to the Hotel du Lac.

  A ray of bright sunlight streamed in through the curtains she had pinnedtogether the night before. And her travelling clock told her that it wasnot yet six. But Sylvia jumped out of bed, and, drawing back thecurtains, she looked out, and across the lake.

  The now solitary expanse of water seemed to possess a new beauty in theearly morning sunlight, and the white Casino, of which the minarets werereflected in its blue depths, might have been a dream palace. Nothingbroke the intense stillness but the loud, sweet twittering of the birdsin the trees which surrounded the lake.

  But soon the spell was broken. When the six strokes of the hour chimedout from the old parish church which forms the centre of the town ofLacville, as if by enchantment there rose sounds of stir both indoors andout.

  A woman came out of the lodge of the Villa du Lac, and slowly opened thegreat steel and gilt gates.

  Sylvia heard the rush of bath water, even the queer click-click of ashower bath. M. Polperro evidently insisted on an exceptional standard ofcleanliness for his household.

  Sylvia felt fresh and well. The languor induced by the heat of Paris hadleft her. There seemed no reason why she should not get up too, and evengo out of doors if so the fancy pleased her.

  She had just finished dressing when there came curious sounds from thefront of the Villa, and again she went over to her window.

  A horse was being walked up and down on the stones of the courtyard infront of the horseshoe stairway which led up to the hall door. It was notyet half-past six. Who could be going to ride at this early hour of themorning?

  Soon her unspoken question was answered; for the Comte de Virieu, clad inriding breeches and a black jersey, came out of the house, and close onhis heels trotted M. Polperro, already wearing his white chef's cap andapron.

  Sylvia could hear his "M'sieur le Comte" this, and "M'sieur le Comte"that, and she smiled a little to herself. The owner of the Hotel du Lacwas very proud of his noble guest.

  The Comte de Virieu was also laughing and talking; he was more animatedthan she had yet seen him. Sylvia told herself that he looked very wellin his rather odd riding dress.

  Waving a gay adieu to mine host, he vaulted into the saddle, and thenrode out of the gates, and so sharply to the left.

  Sylvia wondered if he were going for a ride in the Forest of Montmorency,which, in her lying guide-book, was mentioned as the principal attractionof Lacville.

  There came a knock at the door, and Sylvia, calling out "Come in!" wassurprised, and rather amused, to see that it was M. Polperro himself whoopened it.

  "I have come to ask if Madame has slept well," he observed, "and also toknow if she would like an English breakfast? If yes, it shall be laid inthe dining-room, unless Madame would rather have it up here."

  "I would much rather come downstairs to breakfast," said Sylvia; "but Ido not want anything yet, M. Polperro. It will do quite well if I havebreakfast at half-past eight or nine."

  She unpacked her trunks, and as she put her things away it suddenlystruck her that she meant to stay at Lacville for some time. It wasan interesting, a new, even a striking experience, this of hers; andthough she felt rather lost without Anna Wolsky's constant presence andcompanionship, she was beginning to find it pleasant to be once more herown mistress.

  She sat down and wrote some letters--the sort of letters that can bewritten or not as the writer feels inclined. Among them was a duty letterto her trustee, Bill Chester, telling him of her change of address, andof her change of plan.

  The people with whom she had been going to Switzerland were friends ofBill Chester too, and so it was doubtful now whether he would go abroadat all.

  And all the time Sylvia was writing there was at the back of her minda curious, unacknowledged feeling that she was waiting for something tohappen, that there was something pleasant for her to look forward to....

  And when at last she went down into the dining-room, and Paul de Virieucame in, Sylvia suddenly realised, with a sense of curious embarrassment,what it was she had been waiting for and looking forward to. It was hermeeting with the Comte de Virieu.

  "I hope my going out so early did not disturb you," he said, in hisexcellent English. "I saw you at your window."

  Sylvia shook her head, smiling.

  "I had already been awake for at least half an hour," she answered.

  "I suppose you ride? Most of the Englishwomen I knew as a boy rode, androde well."

  "My father was very anxious I should ride, and as a child I was welltaught, but I have not had much opportunity of riding since I grew up."

  Sylvia reddened faintly, for she fully expected the Count to ask her ifshe would ride with him, and she had already made up her mind to say"No," though to say "Yes" would be very pleasant!

  But he did nothing of the sort. Even at this early hour of theiracquaintance it struck Sylvia how unlike the Comte de Virieu's mannerto her was to that of the other young men she knew. While his manner wasdeferential, even eager, yet there was not a trace of flirtation in it.Also the Count had already altered all Sylvia Bailey's preconceivednotions of Frenchmen.

  Sylvia had supposed a Frenchman's manner to a woman to be almostinvariably familiar, in fact, offensively familiar. She had had thenotion that a pretty young woman--it would, of course, have been absurdfor her to have denied, even to herself, that she was very pretty--mustbe careful in her dealing with foreigners, and she believed it to be afact that a Frenchman always makes love to an attractive stranger, evenon the shortest acquaintance!

  This morning, and she was a little piqued that it was so, Sylvia had toadmit to herself that the Comte de Virieu treated her much as he mighthave done some old lady in whom he took a respectful interest....

  And yet twice during the half-hour her breakfast lasted she looked up tosee his blue eyes fixed full on her with an earnest, inquiring gaze, andshe realised that it was not at all the kind of gaze Paul de Virieu wouldhave turned on an old lady.

  They got up from their respective tables at the same moment. He openedthe door for her, and then, after a few minutes, followed her out intothe garden.

  "Have you yet visited the _potager_?" he asked, deferentially.

  Sylvia looked at him, puzzled. "_Potager_" was quite a new French word toher.

  "I think you call it the kitchen-garden." A smile lit up his face. "Thepeople who built the Villa du Lac a matter of fifty years ago were veryfond of gardening. I think it might amuse you to see the _potager_. Allowme to show it you."

  They were now walking side by side. It was a delicious day, and the dewstill glistened on the grass and leaves. Sylvia thought it would be verypleasant, and also instructive, to see a French kitchen-garden.

  "Strange to say when I was a child I was often at the Villa du Lac, forthe then owner was a distant cousin of my mother. He and his kind wifeallowed me to come here for my convalescence after a rather seriousillness when I was ten years old. My dear mother did not like me to befar from Paris, so I was sent to Lacville."

  "What a curious place to send a child to!" exclaimed Sylvia.

  "Ah, but Lacville was extremely different from what it is now, Madame.True, there was the lake, where Parisians used to come out each Sundayafternoon to fish and boat in a humble way, and there were a few villasbuilt round the lake. But you must remember that in those prehistoricdays there was no Casino! It is the Casino which has transformed Lacvilleinto what we now see."

  "Then we have reason to bless the Casino!" cried Sylvia
, gaily.

  They had now left behind them the wide lawn immediately behind the Villadu Lac, and were walking by a long, high wall. The Count pushed open anarrow door set in an arch in the wall, and Sylvia walked through intoone of the largest and most delightful kitchen-gardens she had ever seen.

  It was brilliant with colour and scent; the more homely summer flowersfilled the borders, while, at each place where four paths met, a round,stone-rimmed basin, filled with water to the brim, gave a sense ofpleasant coolness.

  The farther end of the walled garden was bounded by a stone orangery, abuilding dating from the eighteenth century, and full of the statelygrace of a vanished epoch.

  "What a delightful place!" Sylvia exclaimed. "But this garden must costM. Polperro a great deal of money to keep up--"

  The Comte de Virieu laughed.

  "Far from it! Our clever host hires out his _potager_ to a firm of marketgardeners, part of the bargain being that they allow him to have as muchfruit and vegetables as he requires throughout the year. Why, the_potager_ of the Villa du Lac supplies the whole of Lacville with fruitand flowers! When I was a child I thought this part of the gardenparadise, and I spent here my happiest hours."

  "It must be very odd for you to come back and stay in the Villa now thatit is an hotel."

  "At first it seemed very strange," he answered gravely. "But now I havebecome quite used to the feeling."

  They walked on for awhile along one of the narrow flower-bordered paths.

  "Would you care to go into the orangery?" he said. "There is not much tosee there now, for all the orange-trees are out of doors. Still, it is aquaint, pretty old building."

  The orangery of the Villa du Lac was an example of that at onceartificial and graceful eighteenth-century architecture which, perhapsbecause of its mingled formality and delicacy, made so distinguishedand attractive a setting to feminine beauty. It remained, the onlysurvival of the dependencies of a chateau sacked and burned in the GreatRevolution, more than half a century before the Villa du Lac was built.

  The high doors were wide open, and Sylvia walked in. Though all thepot-plants and half-hardy shrubs were sunning themselves in the open-air,the orangery did not look bare, for every inch of the inside walls hadbeen utilised for growing grapes and peaches.

  There was a fountain set in the centre of the stone floor, and near thefountain was a circular seat.

  "Let us sit down," said Paul de Virieu suddenly. But when Sylvia Baileysat down he did not come and sit by her, instead he so placed himselfthat he looked across at her slender, rounded figure, and happy smilingface.

  "Are you thinking of staying long at Lacville, Madame?" he askedabruptly.

  "I don't know," she answered hesitatingly. "It will depend on my friendMadame Wolsky's plans. If we both like it, I daresay we shall stay threeor four weeks."

  There fell what seemed to Sylvia a long silence between them. TheFrenchman was gazing at her with a puzzled, thoughtful look.

  Suddenly he got up, and after taking a turn up and down the orangery, hecame and stood before her.

  "Mrs. Bailey!" he exclaimed. "Will you permit me to be ratherimpertinent?"

  Sylvia reddened violently. The question took her utterly by surprise. Butthe Comte de Virieu's next words at once relieved, and yes, it must beadmitted, chagrined her.

  "I ask you, Madame, to leave Lacville! I ask permission to tell youfrankly and plainly that it is not a place to which you ought to havebeen brought."

  He spoke with great emphasis.

  Sylvia looked up at him. She was bewildered, and though not exactlyoffended, rather hurt.

  "But why?" she asked plaintively. "Why should I not stay at Lacville?"

  "Oh, well, there can be no harm in your staying on a few days if youare desirous of doing so. But Lacville is not a place where I shouldcare for my own sister to come and stay." He went on, speaking muchquicker--"Indeed, I will say more! I will tell you that Lacville mayseem a paradise to you, but that it is a paradise full of snakes."

  "Snakes?" repeated Sylvia slowly. "You mean, of course, human snakes?"

  He bowed gravely.

  "Every town where reigns the Goddess of play attracts reptiles, Madame,as the sun attracts lizards! It is not the game that does so, or even thelove of play in the Goddess's victims; no, it is the love of gold!"

  Sylvia noticed that he had grown curiously pale.

  "Lacville as a gambling centre counts only next to Monte Carlo. Butwhereas many people go to Monte Carlo for health, and for various formsof amusement, people only come here in order to play, and to see othersplay. The Casino, which doubtless appears to you a bright, pretty place,has been the scene and the cause of many a tragedy. Do you know how Parisregards Lacville?" he asked searchingly.

  "No--yes," Sylvia hesitated. "You see I never heard of Lacville tillabout a week ago." Innate honesty compelled her to add, "But I have heardthat the Paris trades-people don't like Lacville."

  "Let me tell you one thing," the Count spoke with extraordinaryseriousness. "Every tradesman in Paris, without a single exception,has signed a petition imploring the Government to suspend the GamblingConcession!"

  "What an extraordinary thing!" exclaimed Sylvia, and she was surprisedindeed.

  "Pardon me, it is not at all extraordinary. A great deal of the moneywhich would otherwise go into the pockets of these tradesmen goes now toenrich the anonymous shareholders of the Casino of Lacville! Of course,Paris hotel-keepers are not in quite the same position as are the otherParisian trades-people. Lacville does not do them much harm, for theplace is so near Paris that foreigners, if they go there at all,generally go out for the day. Only the most confirmed gambler caresactually to _live_ at Lacville."

  He looked significantly at Sylvia, and she felt a wave of hot colourbreak over her face.

  "Yes, I know what you must be thinking, and it is, indeed, the shamefultruth! I, Madame, have the misfortune to be that most miserable and mostGod-forsaken of living beings, a confirmed gambler."

  The Count spoke in a tone of stifled pain, almost anger, and Sylvia gazedup at his stern, sad face with pity and concern filling her kind heart.

  "I will tell you my story in a few words," he went on, and then he satdown by her, and began tracing with his stick imaginary patterns on thestone floor.

  "I was destined for what I still regard as the most agreeable career inthe world--that of diplomacy. You see how I speak English? Well, Madame,I speak German and Spanish equally well. And then, most unhappily for me,my beloved mother died, and I inherited from her a few thousand pounds.I felt very miserable, and I happened to be at the moment idle. A friendpersuaded me to go to Monte Carlo. That fortnight, Madame, changed mylife--made me what the English call 'an idle good-for-nothing.' Can youwonder that I warn you against staying at Lacville?"

  Sylvia was touched, as well as surprised, by his confidences. His wordsbreathed sincerity, and the look of humiliation and pain on his face haddeepened. He looked white and drawn.

  "It is very kind of you to tell me this, and I am very much obliged toyou for your warning," she said in a low tone.

  But the Comte de Virieu went on as if he hardly heard her words.

  "The lady with whom you first came to Lacville--I mean the Polishlady--is well known to me by sight. For the last three years I haveseen her at Monte Carlo in the winter, and at Spa and Aix-les-Bains inthe summer. Of course I was not at all surprised to see her turn up here,but I confess, Madame, that I was very much astonished to see with hera"--he hesitated a moment--"a young English lady. You would, perhaps, beoffended if I were to tell you exactly what I felt when I saw you at theCasino!"

  "I do not suppose I should be offended," said Sylvia softly.

  "I felt, Madame, as if I saw a lily growing in a field of high, rank,evil-smelling--nay, perhaps I should say, poisonous--weeds."

  "But I cannot go away now!" cried Sylvia. She was really impressed--veryuncomfortably impressed--by his earnest words. "It would be most unkindto my friend, Mad
ame Wolsky. Surely, it is possible to stay at Lacville,and even to play a little, without anything very terrible happening?" Shelooked at him coaxingly, anxiously, as a child might have done.

  But Sylvia was not a child; she was a very lovely young woman. Comte Paulde Virieu's heart began to beat.

  But, bah! This was absurd! His day of love and love-making lay far, farbehind him. He rose and walked towards the door.

  In speaking to her as he had forced himself to speak, the Frenchman haddone an unselfish and kindly action. Sylvia's gentle and unsophisticatedcharm had touched him deeply, and so he had given her what he knew to bethe best possible advice.

  "I am not so foolish as to pretend that the people who come and play inthe Casino of Lacville are all confirmed gamblers," he said, slowly. "WeFrench take our pleasures lightly, Madame, and no doubt there is many anexcellent Parisian bourgeois who comes here and makes or loses his fewfrancs, and gets no harm from it. But, still, I swore to myself that Iwould warn you of the danger--"

  They went out into the bright sunshine again, and Sylvia somehow felt asif she had made a friend--a real friend--in the Comte de Virieu. It wasa curious sensation, and one that gave her more pleasure than she wouldhave cared to own even to herself.

  Most of the men she had met since she became a widow treated her as anirresponsible being. Many of them tried to flirt with her for the merepleasure of flirting with so pretty a woman; others, so she wasresentfully aware, had only become really interested in her when theybecame aware that she had been left by her husband with an income of twothousand pounds a year. She had had several offers of marriage since herwidowhood, but not one of the men who had come and said he loved her hadconfessed as much about himself as this stranger had done.

  She was the more touched and interested because the Frenchman's mannerwas extremely reserved. Even in the short time she had been at the Villadu Lac, Sylvia had realised that though the Count was on speaking termswith most of his fellow-guests, he seemed intimate with none of thepeople whose happy chatter had filled the dining-room the night before.

  Just before going back into the Villa, Sylvia stopped short; she fixedher large ingenuous eyes on the Count's face.

  "I want to thank you again," she said diffidently, "for your kindnessin giving me this warning. You know we in England have a proverb,'Forewarned is forearmed.' Well, believe me, I will not forget what youhave said, and--and I am grateful for your confidence. Of course, Iregard it as quite private."

  The Count looked at her for a moment in silence, and then he said verydeliberately,

  "I am afraid the truth about me is known to all those good enough toconcern themselves with my affairs. I am sure, for instance, that yourPolish friend is well aware of it! You see before you a man who has lostevery penny he owned in the world, who does not know how to work, and whois living on the charity of relations."

  Sylvia had never heard such bitter accents issue from human lips before.

  "The horse you saw me ride this morning," he went on in a low tone, "isnot my horse; it belongs to my brother-in-law. It is sent for me everyday because my sister loves me, and she thinks my health will suffer ifI do not take exercise. My brother-in-law did not give me the horse,though he is the most generous of human beings, for he feared that ifhe did I should sell it in order that I might have more money for play."

  There was a long, painful pause, then in a lighter tone the Count added,"And now, au revoir, Madame, and forgive me for having thrust my privateaffairs on your notice! It is not a thing I have been tempted ever to dobefore with one whom I have the honour of knowing as slightly as I knowyourself."

  Sylvia went upstairs to her room. She was touched, moved, excited. It wasquite a new experience with her to come so really near to any man's heartand conscience.

  Life is a secret and a tangled skein, full of loose, almost invisiblethreads. This curiously intimate, and yet impersonal conversation withone who was not only a stranger, but also a foreigner, made her realisehow little we men and women really know of one another. How small was herknowledge, for instance, of Bill Chester--though, to be sure, of himthere was perhaps nothing to know. How really little also she knew ofAnna Wolsky! They had become friends, and yet Anna had never confided toher any intimate or secret thing about herself. Why, she did not evenknow Anna's home address!

  Sylvia felt that there was now a link which hardly anything could breakbetween herself and this Frenchman, whom she had never seen till a weekago. Even if they never met again after to-day, she would never forgetthat he had allowed her to see into the core of his sad, embitteredheart. He had lifted a corner of the veil which covered his conscience,and he had done this in order that he might save her, a stranger, fromwhat he knew by personal experience to be a terrible fate!