If Sinners Entice Thee Part 31

She knit her brows for an instant, as if questions regarding her past were entirely distasteful.

"Well, yes," she answered, after some hesitation. "I once lived in Paris with my mother. We had rooms in the Rue Toullier."

"Then there can be no mistake," he exclaimed, quickly. "You are Mariette Lepage."

"Of course I am," she said, puzzled at the strangeness of his manner.

"Why?"

"Because there is a curious circ.u.mstance which causes our interests to be mutual," he answered, watching the flush of excitement upon her face as he spoke. "Briefly, my father, Sir John Stratfield, was somewhat eccentric, and because he knew I loved Liane, he left me penniless. He, however, added an extraordinary clause to his will, in which you are mentioned." Then drawing from his breast-pocket a copy of the doc.u.ment, he glanced at it.

"I am mentioned?" she echoed, raising herself and regarding him open-mouthed.

"Yes," he said. "By this will he has left me one hundred thousand pounds on condition that I become your husband within two years of his death."

"You--my husband?" she cried. "Are you mad?"

"Not so mad as my father when he made this absurd will," he answered, calmly. "You are, under its provisions, to be offered twenty thousand pounds in cash if you will consent to become my wife. This offer will be made to you formally by his solicitors in London as soon as I inform them that you are at last found. Read for yourself," and he pa.s.sed to her the copy of the will.

She took it mechanically, but for several moments sat agape and motionless. The extraordinary announcement held her bewildered.

Quickly she glanced through the long lines of formal words, rea.s.suring herself that he had spoken the truth. She was to receive twenty thousand pounds if she would marry the man before her, while he, on his part, would become possessed of a substantial sum sufficient to keep them comfortably for the remainder of their lives. At first she was inclined to doubt the genuineness of the doc.u.ment; but it bore the signature of the firm of solicitors, and was attested by them to be a true copy of the original will. It held her dumb in astonishment.

"Then we are to marry?" she observed amazedly, when at last she again found voice.

"The offer is to be made to you," he answered, evasively. "As you have seen, if you refuse, or if you are already married, I am to receive half the amount."

"I am not married," she answered with a slightly coquettish smile, her chin resting upon her palm in a reflective att.i.tude as she gazed at him.

"Marriage with you will mean that we have together the substantial sum of one hundred and twenty thousand pounds."

"That is so," he said gravely. "If we married we certainly should have money."

"But you love Liane," she answered in a low tone. "You can never love me," and she sighed.

He did not answer. The look upon his face told her the truth. He feared lest she should accept this curious offer, knowing that he would then be drawn into a marriage with her. She regarded him critically, and saw that he was tall, good-looking, muscular, and in every way a thorough type of the good-natured Englishman. Twenty thousand pounds was, she reflected, a sum that would prove very acceptable, for she lived extravagantly, and the Villa Fortunee itself was an expensive luxury.

"It is very dull living alone," she exclaimed, with a little touch of melancholy in her voice. Then, with a laugh, she added, "To be perfectly frank, I should not object to you as my husband."

"But is there not a barrier between us?" he exclaimed, quickly.

"Only Liane. And she can never marry you."

"I love her. I cannot love you," he answered. Her effort at coquetry sickened him.

"It is not a question of love," she answered, coldly, toying with the fine marquise ring upon her white finger. "It is a question of one hundred and twenty thousand pounds."

"Would either of us be one whit the better for it, even if we married?"

he queried. "I think not. At present we are friends. If we married I should hate you."

"Nevertheless I should obtain twenty thousand pounds," she argued.

"Is it worth while to risk one's future happiness for that?" he said.

"I have not yet sufficiently considered the matter," she replied, with her eyes still fixed on him. "At present I'm inclined to think that it is. But I must have time to reflect. One cannot refuse such an offer without due consideration."

"Then you are inclined to accept," he observed, blankly.

She hesitated. Slowly she rose from the settee, crossed to the window and pushed open the sun-shutters, allowing the golden sunset to stream into the room from over the clear blue-green sea.

"Yes," she answered, standing gazing out upon the far-off horizon where the white-sailed racing yachts, Ailsa and Britannia, were pa.s.sing, "I am inclined to accept."

"Very well," he stammered, sitting rigid and immovable. "My future is entirely in your hands."

She pa.s.sed her hand wearily across her brow. With the sunset falling full upon her, he saw how heavy-eyed she was, and how artificial was the complexion that had looked so well in the dreamy half-light when the jalousies had been closed. Yes. She no doubt bore traces of a faded beauty, but she was old; there were lines in her brow, and crows' feet showed at the corners of her eyes. She was _pa.s.see_, and all the vivacity and coquettishness she had shown had been carefully feigned to a.s.sume an appearance of youth. The thought of it nauseated him.

Again she turned towards him. Her momentary gravity had vanished, and she commenced a commonplace conversation. At last, however, he rose to go, but she would not hear of it.

"No; remain here and dine," she said, in a low, persuasive tone.

"Afterwards we can go over to Monte Carlo for an hour or so, and you can catch the yellow _rapide_ back to Nice at eleven."

"But you must really excuse me. I--"

"I will take no excuse," she said, laughing. "You must remain," and she rang for the servant and told him that m'sieur would dine.

Together they stood at the open window watching the succession of lights and shadows upon the purple mountains, how the rose of the afterglow grew deeper over the sea until it faded, and the streak of gold and orange died out behind the distant rocks of Cap d'Aggio. Then the mists rose, creeping slowly up the mountain sides, the dusk deepened, a chill wind blew in from the sea, and just as they closed the windows the door opened and the man announced dinner.

The table, set for two in a cosy little salle-a-manger, glittered with its cut-gla.s.s and s.h.i.+ning plate, and was rendered bright by its shaded candles and small silver repousse stands filled with choice flowers.

Throughout the meal she was gay and vivacious, speaking but little of herself and carefully avoiding all references to Liane. He found her a pleasant hostess, unusually well-informed for a woman. They discussed art and literature, and in all her criticisms she exhibited a wide and intimate knowledge of men and things. Then, when they rose, she opened a door at the further end of the room and he found himself in a s.p.a.cious conservatory, where she invited him to smoke while she dressed to go to the Casino.

Half an hour later she reappeared in a handsome gown of pale blue silk, the corsage trimmed with narrow braiding of silver; a costume which suited her admirably, yet so daring was it that he could not disguise from himself the suggestion that it was the dress of a demi-mondaine.

Her hair had been redressed by her maid, and as he placed about her shoulders her small black cape of lace and feathers, he mumbled an apology that he was not able to dress.

"What does it matter? I invited you," she said, with a gay laugh.

"Come."

Together they entered the open carriage awaiting them, and descending the long winding road to the sh.o.r.e, drove rapidly through La Condamine, and ascended the steep incline which brought them round to the main entrance to the Casino.

The night was brilliant, and the broad Place, with its palms and flowers, its gay, laughing crowd of promenaders, and its showy Cafe de Paris, where the band was playing Mattei's "Non e ver," lay bright as day beneath the moonbeams and electric rays. As they entered, Mariette handed him her cape, which he deposited for her in the cloakroom, then both pa.s.sed through a crowd of habitues of the rooms. Several men around bowed to her, and she greeted them with a smile.

"You appear to be well-known here," he laughed, as the well-guarded doors opened to them.

"I suppose I am," she answered vaguely. "When I am lonely I come here and play. It is the only recreation I have."

The rooms were hot and crowded. The monotonous cry of the croupiers, the incessant clicking of the roulette-ball, the jingle of coin, and the faint odour of perfume were in striking contrast to the quiet of the road along which they had just driven, but walking side by side they pa.s.sed through one room after another until they reached that fine square salon, with its huge canvas representing a peaceful pastoral scene occupying the whole of the opposite wall, the "trente-et-quarante"

room.

There was not quite so large a crowd here, but the stakes were higher, a louis being the minimum. Mariette saw a player rise from his chair at the end of the table and instantly secured the vacant seat, then turning to her companion with a gay laugh, said,--

"I am going to tempt Fortune for half an hour."