HUGH continued to be haunted by thoughts of Mrs. Belmire. At times he felt he would throw up everything to follow her; at others he consigned her to the devil. He had resolved to let her make the first advance and carefully avoided meeting her.
One day on returning home, Margot handed him an envelope bearing the initials M. B. He was not altogether pleased and put it in his pocket until he should be alone. He tore it open later and read:
“How could I be so horrid to you the last time we met? Can you forgive me enough to meet me this evening at Ciro’s at ten o’clock? It will probably be adieu. I am leaving for Vichy on Friday.”
The humility of the note touched him. She had put herself in the wrong. Nothing like a show of indifference with women, he thought. His vanity was flattered. A sentiment of generosity akin to tenderness glowed in him. Quite eagerly he awaited the evening.
She arrived a little late, wearing a very exquisite evening gown. She rightly believed that her shoulders and arms added to her charm. She took his hand in a firm, good-fellow grip. As she sat down he was conscious of the perfume she affected. She seemed to him to be stunning, the real thing, a femme de luxe.
Her manner was subdued to the point of mournfulness. It was one of her favourite moods and was in harmony with the melancholy of the restaurant. The orchestra played dispiritedly. Two teams of professional dancers shimmied in a forlorn fashion. Even the waiters looked listless.
“This place will be closing soon,” she sighed. “Monte is dying. All the right sort have gone already. I feel almost like a derelict. I’m bored to the verge of tears. For God’s sake do something to console me. Buy me a bottle of Cliquot.”
When the waiter brought it in its silver bucket of ice, the bottle looked very comforting. As they sipped, she grew more cheerful.
“Thank goodness I’m going. I say, why don’t you come, too? Do the giddy round,—Paris for the Grand Prix, Deauville, Biarritz,—one meets the same crowd at all these places, the world that lives to enjoy itself. Let’s enjoy ourselves.”
“I don’t belong to that world. I’m a quiet chap. I want a quiet life.”
“And I—I want a gay one. But I’m lonely. God! at times I’m so lonely, I could shoot myself or get drunk. I say, let’s get drunk to-night.”
“You’re joking.”
“Yes, I suppose I am. But that’s just how I feel. I don’t know why. Perhaps its because I won’t see you again. Oh, I say,—be a priceless darling. Do come.”
He shrugged his shoulders. He felt her power, the melting appeal of her eyes, the caress of her hand. Passion was invading him. He wanted to seize her, crush her, hurt her. “Why not,” he thought, “a month of that gay life! It would cost a good deal, but perhaps it would be worth it. A delirious month....” Then he heard himself saying:
“No, it’s no use. I can’t go.”
She stamped her foot pettishly. The spell was broken. After a little she resumed:
“Well, if you won’t come with me, you won’t refuse to help me. I’m in debt all round. I owe quite a lot of money to the pension, too. I don’t know how much. I have no head for figures. I’m like a child in financial matters. I say, dear boy, you’ll lend me a bit, won’t you? I’ve counted on you, you know.”
He winced. His lips tightened.
“How much?”
“Oh, a little bunch of milles. Ten or twenty will do. What does it matter to you? You’re rich. You’re making millions. You’re not stingy, are you?”
He felt the time had come for an explanation. “Look here,” he said, “you’re all wrong. You assumed from the start I was a somebody and had something. I’m really a nobody and I have nothing. You might even call me an adventurer. I came here broken in health and practically penniless. Now I am strong and fit again. And I have some money, fifty thousand francs, which I managed to wrench from the Casino. That’s all I’ve got, I swear it. I’m not mean, but I’ve known bitter poverty and don’t want to know it again.”
She was looking at him in sheer amazement. He warmed to his subject, and spoke with a gusto that was almost malicious.
“That money means life to me. It means a home, a chance to make a living by healthy, agreeable work. I’m going to buy a car. Next year if you’re here and you see me standing in line waiting for a job, you can hire me. Now you know me. That’s the sort I am, a penniless adventurer. I should have told you before, but I enjoyed being with you so much that I postponed the confession. Well, that’s over any way. And now what are you going to do?”
For a full minute she was speechless. Then she said breathlessly:
“But you are making millions, you and that old man. Every one knows it. You are partners....”
“No, not partners. I never touch a sou of what he makes.”
“But ... he’s like a father to you. He’ll give you anything you want. A million if you ask. I am sure.”
“I don’t intend to ask.”
“I don’t understand,” said Mrs. Belmire.
“No, I don’t think you do; I don’t think you can. I’m sorry, but.... Hullo! there’s that fellow Vulning. By Jove! he’s coming in here. Drunk as a tinker, too, I’ll swear.”
She shrugged her beautiful shoulders. She sat silent, her chin propped on her hands, staring into vacancy with stormy, scornful eyes. Yes, she was lovely. Now that he had told her everything he was half sorry. She was lost to him. She would turn on him presently, and call him a most unmerciful bounder. Well, he deserved it. He waited. He felt sorry for her, she seemed so bowled over. Then suddenly she turned to him, fixing him with an intense gaze.
“I counted on you. Oh, how I counted on you!”
Tears and reproach were in her voice. At that moment he almost yielded, almost promised her the money. Even as he hesitated, his attention was attracted by Paul Vulning.
Vulning was standing at the bar. He was dressed in a golfing suit and looked as if he had been on a long debauch. His face was puffy and muddily red, his cheeks and chin bristly; his eyes fishy when they were not wild. He stared round the room, and recognized Mrs. Belmire, but he did not notice Hugh.
“Hullo! Marion,” he cried. “Come on, old girl, and have a Scotch.”
She did not pay any attention, but continued to brood, her chin in her cupped hands. He shouted once more.
“Here, don’t be haughty. You weren’t always too proud to drink at a bar. Well, I’ll come over and join you.”
Carrying his glass unsteadily, he made his way towards them.
“Brute!” said Hugh.
“Don’t take any notice of him,” said Mrs. Belmire contemptuously. “He’s always beastly when he’s in that state.”
Vulning halted.
“Excuse me. Didn’t notice you had a fellow. Never mind. We’re all pals here, ain’t we?”
He sat down unsteadily. “All pals.... Damn you!”
He had suddenly recognized Hugh, and he bent forward with a snarl like that of an angry dog.
“You bloody whipper-snapper.... Bah!”
Hugh restrained himself with difficulty, and sat tense. The frown on Mrs. Belmire’s face deepened. Vulning’s snarl gradually relaxed to a sneer. He meant mischief.
“You’re looking rippin’ to-night, Marion. ’Pon my soul I never saw you looking so stunning.”
He put out a rather dirty hand and patted her white shoulder. She drew back.
Hugh broke in tempestuously. “Don’t do that again, you dog, or I’ll knock you down.”
Vulning gave a sneering laugh, then suddenly grew fierce.
“Why shouldn’t I do it if I choose? What’s it got to do with you, you young whelp? What can you do?”
“I can make you respect a lady in my presence.”
“Respect! Lady!” Vulning burst into a roar of laughter. “That a lady! That! Why, man, she’s been my mistress. She’s been the mistress of a dozen men I know. She’s anybody’s woman. Respect! Her! Oh you young fool! You poor flat.... Ach!”
He choked. Hugh had clutched him by the collar and was shaking him savagely. Vulning struck out wildly, but Hugh hurled him to the floor and stood over him.
“Come on,” said Mrs. Belmire wearily, “I’m going.”
She went to the door alone, pulling her cloak over her dazzling shoulders. Hugh hesitated, then followed her.
“I’d better see you home,” he said.
“Home!” she laughed bitterly. “I had a home once. I don’t suppose I’ll ever have another.”
“Was it true? What he said?”
Her voice was hard, scornful. “Yes, all true. What would you? I must live. I was brought up to do nothing. My husband died leaving me only his debts. Try to understand! Put yourself in my place. Men are brutes. A woman must prey or be preyed on. You are the first decent, clean man I’ve met since ... oh, ever so long. And you’ve never suspected?...”
“No, I didn’t think that of you. I suppose it was because I didn’t want to think it. I thought you were foolish, worldly, of limited means but straight, quite straight. I swear I did.”
“And now that you know you will never see me again?”
“I don’t know. I must think it out. We have both been deceived in the other.”
“Yes, we must both think it out. Here’s the pension. Good-night.”
“Good-night.”
Two days later Hugh persuaded the professor to play more rapidly, with the result that in less than two hours the old man had won nearly two hundred thousand francs. The effort exhausted him and he retired to his bed for the day. He intended to repeat the performance the next morning.
When Hugh returned, he found Margot laying the table for lunch. He noticed that her hands trembled. Though quiet and reserved as always, she had a strange sullen set to her mouth and a resentful look in her eyes. Presently she said:
“A lady came to see you this morning.”
“A lady! Here! Who was it?”
“A haughty English lady,—with dyed hair.”
With some annoyance Hugh applied this description to Mrs. Belmire.
“What did she say?”
“I did not let her in. She took me for the domestic. I was scrubbing the kitchen and not very tidy. I said you were out and I had not the faintest idea when you would be in.”
“Yes?”
“She then said: ‘Tell him I will dine at the Carlton to-night at eight, and expect him to have dinner with me.’ I bobbed my head and answered, ‘Yes, ma’am.’ Then she said, ‘Do you think you can give that message correctly, my girl?’ I answered again, ‘Yes, ma’am. I think my intelligence will be equal to the strain you are putting on it.’ She then offered me a franc but I refused it.”
“Damn it! I’m sorry she came.... I mean I’m sorry you were put in such a position.”
“I think I’d better go away. Is that the lady you go about with so much?”
“How do you know I go about with her?”
“I’ve seen you; lots of times. She’s a bad woman, I tell you. I know all about her. She’s ruined lots of men. She’ll ruin you, too.”
The girl seemed to be trembling with suppressed rage. Hugh became angry.
“I’m quite capable of taking care of myself,” he said coldly.
“Are you going to see her to-night?”
“I don’t see what that’s got to do with you.”
“Because if you do, I won’t stay here. I’ll leave to-night. I swear I will.”
“You seem determined to create an atmosphere of unpleasantness. I don’t like it. I’ll go and get lunch elsewhere.”
He ate at the Bristol. Later, he took a walk, went for a swim, had tea at Scapini’s, and strolled about the “Cheese.” He could not get the thought of Margot out of his head. What had got into her? It was none of her business whom he went with. He would not let any one exercise a control over his actions. As for her going away, it was an empty threat. She had said the same thing before. What did Mrs. Belmire want with him? It would be safer, perhaps, not to see her again. It was playing with fire....
At seven o’clock, nevertheless, he went home and changed into his evening clothes. As he was going out Margot stood by the door.
“You’re going, then?”
“Yes,” he said curtly.
“Very well, then, I warn you; you won’t find me here when you come back.”
“Do as you please. You are entirely mistress of your own actions.”
He passed her, slamming the door.
He found Mrs. Belmire waiting for him. She had reserved a table in one of the alcoves and looked very bewitching.
“This is my farewell supper. I had intended to invite some other men; then I thought it would be nicer, just we two.”
Mrs. Belmire’s invitations to supper always included the privilege of paying for it. She seemed to have made up her mind to be the most charming of hostesses. She ordered an exquisite brand of champagne and kept Hugh’s glass filled. She talked vivaciously, with long deep looks into his eyes, and little caressing touches of her hands. She nestled close to him, so close that it was disconcerting to look down on the delicious curves of dazzling flesh, emerging in such radiant and insolent beauty from a gown that sheathed her to the bust in front, and was cut to the waist behind.
It was a gala night. There was a gay crowd of dancers; brilliant Chinese lanterns were strung closely overhead, and the walls and columns were covered with fanciful decorations of coloured crêpe paper.
“Don’t you love it all?” she sighed. “Light, love, laughter,—what a part they play in life.”
He was inclined to agree with her. The triumphant wine was singing through his veins; the mad music was goading him to a frenzy of happiness; the dazzling shoulders and gleaming arms of Mrs. Belmire were pagan in their beauty. The whole combination, wine, woman, song, was for him. Every fibre of his will was weakening in this atmosphere of sheer delight.
“She’s got me going,” he almost groaned. When she turned away her head he emptied his champagne on the floor.
Seeing his glass empty she plied him with another. “You don’t drink anything,” she said. “Come, it’s a poor heart that never rejoices. Let’s abandon ourselves. It’s so jolly nice to be together like this. I wish it could last forever.”
The champagne was taking possession of his sense. He saw her through a roseate mist, a wholly voluptuous, desireful creature. He had drunk nearly two-thirds of the wine; more would be fatal. To avoid real intoxication, he stimulated a slight false one.
“No more of the damned stuff,” he said roughly. “My head’s all buzzing with it. It’s poison. The tears of widows and orphans, the widows and orphans the old professor’s working for....”
She leaned forward eagerly. “I heard you made quite a lot to-day.”
“He made nearly quarter of a million ... for his widows and orphans.”
“Why for them? Why not for you, for us?”
“What do you mean?”
“Wouldn’t you like to be rich? Wouldn’t you like to have a life like this always,—flowers, music, good wine, delicate food, a life of luxury?”
“No, I wouldn’t. I want quiet and simplicity. I don’t want to be rich.”
“Oh, you make me lose patience. You say you would like to be a painter. Well, why not study,—Paris, Rome and so on?”
“That takes money. I haven’t got it.”
“Yes, you have. All you want. Millions!”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ll tell you later. Have some more wine.”
“No, no. I’ve had enough. You want to make me drunk. Come on, let’s leave this cursed bordel. My head’s splitting. I want fresh air.”
“Poor boy! You want to lie down a bit. I say, come and stretch, chez moi. You can smoke a cigarette and have a snooze if you like. It’s quiet there.”
He would have broken away, but she held his arm and called a voiture. It was exactly ten o’clock when they left the restaurant and descended to the Pension Pizzicato. Once in the open air the fumes of the wine affected him with sudden drowsiness.
“Look here,” he said, “I do believe I’m a bit squiffy. Perhaps I’d better lie down on your sofa for half an hour.”
“That’s a good boy. Come on.”
He remembered descending unsteadily from the voiture and stumbling up to her room. They met no one on the way. He threw himself on her divan and closed his eyes.
When he opened them again she was bending over him. She wore a lilac peignoir that clothed her loosely. As he looked at her, surprised, she said:
“My dear boy, how’s your poor head? You know you’ve slept nearly two hours. And look who’s here,—Mr. Fetterstein. He came just a few minutes after we did. We’ve been chatting.”
Fetterstein was comfortably seated, smoking a huge cigar, and drinking a whiskey and soda. He grunted amiably to Hugh.
“Yey, boy! Some snorer too, hey, Mrs. B.? Well, feelin’ better?”
“Yes, thanks. I’m all right now.”
“Have a cigar?”
“No, thanks.”
“Well, if you’ll excuse me I’ll hit the hay. I’m not the night-hawk I used to be. Gettin’ old, hey! I’ll leave the rounder game to you young bloods. Good-night, young chap.”
When he had gone Mrs. Belmire came impulsively to Hugh and knelt by the side of his chair.
“My poor darling! Are you really feeling better? We talked low so as not to disturb you. Old Fetterstein’s not a bad sort. You mustn’t mind him. You know he wants me to go to Vichy with him. He will pay all my debts.”
“Are you going?”
“I don’t want to. I want to go with you. Let’s go to Venice. It’s a dream.”
He looked at her in a dazed way. She put her arms around his neck.
“Oh, come. You’re the only man I love in all the world. In a few more years I will be passée; but now I am at my very best. Look at me. Don’t I please you? Take me. I’ll be everything to you as long as you like. When you tire of me, I’ll go. I’ll be yours, all yours. I’m not fickle. I’ll love you, you alone. You won’t regret it. We’ll live in places that glitter and glow; we will drink to the full the wine of life. Oh, take me, take me....”
“I don’t understand. How can I do these things? I’m not a man of wealth....”
“Oh, yes, you are, if you like. There’s the old professor. You know how to play as he does. You can get hold of his books, copy his figures. We’ll go to San Sebastien, Buenos Ayres, everywhere roulette is allowed. Play, play for yourself. Become rich. Life without money is hell. Come! you’ll do it. Won’t you, won’t you....”
She clung to him. He looked at her with something like horror.
“You want me to steal the professor’s system?”
“Yes, if you want to put it that way. Why not? He’s old, half mad. Charity begins at home. Why not?”
“Never!”
“You will ... you will....”
She seemed to be holding him with all the strength of her body; she kissed him like a mad thing. He could feel her hot panting breath on his face, see her eyes burn into his.
“No, a thousand times no!”
She was like a splendid animal mad with passion. He rose and wrenching her arms apart, backed away from her, a look of repulsion in his eyes. She saw it and knew she was defeated.
She crouched by the empty chair, her head dropping on her outstretched arms. She seemed to be sobbing.
He paused by the door. Something forlorn in her attitude touched him.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “If I were mad for love of you, I would do anything you asked me, but ... I’m not. I can’t go with you because I don’t care for you in that way. I realize it now. Perhaps I should have known it sooner. Please forgive me.”
She rose and faced him.
“Forgive you.... You poor fool! Did you think I meant it? Why, I was only acting. Did you think I cared for you? It’s only money I care for, money, money. I offered myself to you and you refused me. You are the only man who ever did that. It’s that that hurts. You’ve wounded me in a way time will never heal. I hate you, hate you! Oh, I could kill you. Go!...”
She pointed to the door, then turning, once again dropped beside the chair. She was really crying now, shaken with great rending sobs.
He left her. As he passed in front of the dark Casino, the pinkish face of the clock showed it to be one in the morning. All the way downhill to the Condamine he did not meet a soul. There was no moon; and the quietness was almost eerie.
The passage leading to the house was as dark as a tunnel of anthracite. He plunged into its blackness, then stopped short. A man was blocking his way. Instinctively his hand went to his hip pocket for his automatic. Assassins....
Then a second man, darting from behind, gripped his arms. He struggled madly; but the first man, closing in, struck at him with something hard, and he remembered no more.