theirglasses.
On Confetti Day Carnival penetrates everywhere. In the streets, in theshops, in the churches, in the houses, the small pellets seem to enterby unknown means. They find their way down one's neck into one's boots,while ladies get their hats and hair filled with them and drop themwherever they tread. Confetti Day, apart from its interest andamusement as a brilliant spectacle, is the more remarkable because somany hundreds of human beings, prone to "envy, hatred, malice and alluncharitableness," begin, continue and end the fun, in such gloriousgood humour. Everywhere the battle raged fiercely, yet it was all inboisterous mirth, and laughter loud and sincere rang out alike fromvictor and from vanquished. Mirth ran riot, and disorder waseverywhere, but spite was never shown.
Time after time, a storm of confetti swept about Liane and her escort,as together they passed along the colonnade, pelting and being pelted byevery masker they met, until the dust came into her face through thegrille, and the hood and trimming of her domino was full of greypellets.
"You are tired and hot," Zertho exclaimed at last. "This dust makes onethirsty. Let us try and get to the Cafe de la Victoire."
To accomplish this, they were compelled to cross the broad place throughthe very thickest of the fray. Nevertheless, undaunted, with scoopsever in the sacks slung at their sides, they pressed forward,half-choked by the cross-fire of confetti through which they werepassing. Liane's conical felt hat was dinted and almost white, and herdomino sadly soiled and tumbled, still with cheeks aglow by the excitingconflict, she went on, taking her own part valiantly. The wire masksdid not completely disguise their wearers. Numbers of men and women shemet she recognised, and where the recognition was mutual, the battleraged long and furiously, accompanied by screams of uproarious laughter.
At last they managed to reach the opposite side of the Place. Thetables in the colonnade before the popular cafe were crowded withmaskers who were endeavouring to get rid of the dust from their throats,notwithstanding the showers of pellets which continually swept uponthem. The sun was sinking in a blaze of gold behind Antibes, the clockover the Casino marked a quarter to five; in fifteen minutes the cannonof the chateau would boom forth the signal for hostilities to cease, themusicians and puppets would mount upon the cars and move away, themaskers would remove their wire protectors, and order would reign oncemore.
Zertho and Liane had secured a table upon the pavement near the door,the interior of the cafe being suffocatingly crowded, and sipping theirwine, were laughing over the desperate tussle of the afternoon, now andthen retaliating when any passer-by directly assailed them. Suddenly awoman, looking tall in a domino of dark rose and wearing a half-mask ofblack velvet which completely disguised her features, flung, in passing,a large handful of confetti which struck Liane full upon the mask.
In an instant she raised her scoop, and with a gleeful laugh, sent aheavy shower into her unknown opponent's face. Like many other women,her assailant had apparently become separated from her escort in thefierce fighting, and the fact that she preferred a velvet mask to one ofwire showed her to be not a little courageous. But Liane'swell-directed confetti must have struck her sharply upon the chin, whichremained uncovered, for it caused her to wince.
She halted, and standing in full view of the pair as if surveying themdeliberately, next second directed another scoopful at them. BothZertho and Liane, divining her intention, raised their hands to covertheir masks, and as they did so the hail of pellets descended, many ofthem falling into their glasses.
"There," cried Liane, laughing gaily. "It's really too bad, she'sspoilt our wine."
In a moment, however, Zertho, who had been preparing for this secondonslaught, flung scoopful after scoopful at the intrepid woman, andseveral of those sitting at the tables around at once joined inrepelling the fair masker's attack. Yet, nothing daunted, althoughsmothered in confetti from a dozen different hands, she continued theconflict with the pair she had at first attacked, until Liane, in hereagerness to annihilate this woman who had so suddenly opened such apersistent and vigorous fire upon them, turned suddenly with her tinscoop filled to overflowing. With a loud laugh she flung it, but byaccident the scoop itself slipped from her fingers, and struck themasker sharply upon the shoulder.
In an instant Liane, with a cry of regret, rose from her seat and rushedout into the roadway to apologise, but the unknown woman with a stiffbow, her dark eyes flashing angrily through the holes in her mask,turned away and walked quickly along the Rue Massena. Liane stooped,snatched up her scoop, and returned to where Zertho sat heartilylaughing, those sitting around joining in a chorus of hilarity at theincident.
"She got a bigger dose than she bargained for," he exclaimed.
"I am sorry," she said. "It was quite an accident. But did you see hereyes? She glared as if she could kill me."
"Yes," he replied. "She looked half mad. However, she'll never be ableto recognise you again."
Liane was silent. The light of joy and happiness had suddenly died outof her fair countenance. She seemed to possess some vague recollectionof a similar pair of dark, flashing eyes. A face--a strange ghost ofthe past--came for an instant before her eyes; a thought flashed throughher mind and held her appalled. She shuddered, pale as death behind hermask of gauze. Next instant, however, she laughed aloud at her fear.No, she assured herself, it could not be. It was only some faintresemblance, rendered the more vivid because it had come before her amidthat reckless gaiety.
Then she smiled at Zertho again happily as before, and they orderedfresh wine, and waited until the cannon thundered from the heights aboveand the streets grew orderly, ere they started to walk home along thePromenade.
They had, however, been too far off the woman to overhear the strangeominous words she uttered when, with an evil glint in her eyes, sheturned from them abruptly with a fierce imprecation upon her lips, hercheeks beneath the velvet mask blanched with suppressed anger.
"No, I am not mistaken," she had muttered in French, with a dry laughbetween her set teeth. "When I met you dancing in the Place de laPrefecture I thought I recognised you, Liane Brooker. I followed, andthrew at you in order to obtain a good view of your pretty face in whichinnocence is so well portrayed. Strange that we should meet againpurely by accident; strange, too, that you should cover me with dust andfling your scoop into my face as though in defiance. Little do youdream how near I am to you, or of the ghastly nature of the revelationwhich I shall ere long disclose. Then the smiles which enchant youradmirers will turn to tears, your merry laughter to blank despair, andyour well-feigned innocence and purity to ignominy and shame."
CHAPTER ELEVEN.
MONTE CARLO.
Carnival's reign was ended. Pierrot, clown and columbine, hand in hand,had watched the flames consume him, and had danced around the dyingembers. His palace had been torn down, the decorations in his honourhad disappeared, the colours red and rose were no longer exhibited inthe shop windows, for Nice had assumed her normal aspect of aristocraticdignity.
One afternoon a week afterwards, Liane reluctantly accompanied herfather and Zertho to Monte Carlo.
When at luncheon the visit had been suggested by the Prince, she at onceannounced her intention of staying at home. Truth to tell, those greatgaming-rooms with their wildly excited throngs possessed for her toomany painful memories. At length, however, after much persuasion, shewas induced to dress and accompany them.
She chose a white costume, with a large white hat relieved by violets,and a narrow belt of violet satin to match--a plain, fresh-looking gownwhich suited her beauty admirably, and within an hour they had ascendedthe steps of the great white Casino with its handsome facade, andentered the long bureau to exchange their visiting-cards for one of thepink cards of admission. The clerk at the counter, whose duty it is toexamine the dress of the visitors and their cards, at once recognisingthe party, shook hands heartily with Brooker and the Prince, expressingpleasure at seeing them again.
"Yes, we've returned, you see,
" the Captain answered jocularly. "Alwaysback to Monte Carlo, you know."
"Well, I wish messieurs all good fortune," laughed the stout,round-faced man, "and also mademoiselle, of course," he added, bowing,his face beaming with good humour, as instead of writing out formaladmission cards he handed them three of the special white tickets issuedby the Administration of the Cercle to its well-known habitues.
A gay cosmopolitan crowd in Paris-made gowns and well-cut suits, withbulky purses in their hands, struggled behind, eager to obtain tickets,therefore they at once deposited their sticks and sunshade, and passingacross the great atrium, thronged with well-dressed people, approachedthe long polished doors guarded by attendants in bright livery of blueand gold. Here again one of the men wished the Captain "Good day," thedoor opened, and they found themselves once more, after many