the terrible past, and as he glanced ather and watched the effect of his words he saw with satisfaction that hestill held her in a thraldom of fear.
"I thought she had left France," he continued, as if to himself. "I hadno idea that she was still here. Fortune must have been kind to her oflate."
Liane said nothing. She had not failed to notice his anxiety whenMademoiselle Bertholet had explained how Mariette had watched him, andshe wondered whether, after all, he feared this remarkable woman who hadplayed such a prominent part in their past lives; this notorious gamblerwho was her bitterest foe.
She was already tired of Nice, and recognised that to remain longer wasonly to endanger herself. The Nemesis she had so long dreaded seemed tobe closing upon her.
In the Boulevard Carabacel they took an open cab to drive home, butwhile crossing the Place opposite the Post Office they encounteredGeorge Stratfield walking. As he passed he raised his hat to Liane, andshe greeted him with a smile of sadness.
Zertho noticed the young Englishman, and his bearded face grew dark.
"What! So your lover is also here!" he exclaimed in surprise, turningto catch another glance of the well set-up figure in light grey tweed.She had carefully concealed from him and from her father the fact thatGeorge had come to Nice.
"Yes," she answered simply, looking straight before her.
"Why did you hide the truth from me?" he demanded angrily.
"Because the knowledge that he was here could not have benefited you,"she answered.
"You have met him, of course, clandestinely," he said, regarding herwith knit brows.
"I do not deny it."
"And you have told him, I hope, that you are to be my wife?"
"I have," she sighed.
"Then you must not meet again. You understand," he exclaimed fiercely."Send the fellow back to London."
She bit her lip, but made no answer. Her eyes were filled with tears.Without any further words they drove rapidly along the Promenade, atthat hour chill after the fading of the sun, until the cab with itsjingling bells pulled up before the Pension, and Liane alighted. For aninstant she turned to him, bowing, then entered the villa.
Her father was out, and on going into her own room she locked the door,cast down her sunshade, tossed her hat carelessly aside, and pushing herhair from her fevered brow with both hands, stood at the open windowgazing aimlessly out upon the sea. A sense of utter loneliness creptover her forlorn heart. She was, she told herself, entirely friendless,now that her father desired her to marry Zertho. Hers had been at besta cheerless, melancholy life, yet it was now without either hope,happiness, or love. The sea stretching before her was like her ownfuture, impenetrable, a great grey expanse, dismal and limitless,without a single gleam of brightness, growing every instant darker, moreobscure, more mysterious.
Thoughts of the man she loved so fondly surged through her troubledmind. She remembered how sad and melancholy he had looked when she hadpassed him by; how bitterly he had smiled when she bowed to him. Thememory of his dear face brought back to her all the terrible past, allthe hopelessness of the future, all the hideousness of the truth.
She sank beside her bed, and burying her face in the white coverlet gaveway to her emotion, shedding a torrent of tears.
The dusk deepened, the twilight faded and darkness fell, still shesobbed on, murmuring constantly the name of the one man on earth sheloved.
A low tapping at the door aroused her, and thinking it was her fathershe hastily dried her eyes and stumbled blindly across the dark room toadmit him. It was, however, the Provencal _femme de chambre_, whohanded her a note, saying in her quaint patois--
"A letter for Mademoiselle. It was brought a minute or two ago by a manwho gave it to me, with strict injunctions to give it only intoMademoiselle's own hands."
"Thank you, Justine," she answered, in a low hoarse voice, then, closingthe door again, she lit a candle, and mechanically tearing open the notefound that it was dated from the Villa Fortunee, Monaco, and signed byMariette. In it the woman who was her enemy made a strange request.She first asked that she should say no word to her father or to Zerthoregarding the receipt of the note or inform them of her address, andthen, continuing, she wrote: "To-morrow, at two o'clock, call uponGeorge Stratfield, who is, as you know, staying at the Grand Hotel, andhe will bring you over here to my house. It is imperative that I shouldsee you. Fear nothing, but come. George is my friend, and he will beawaiting you."
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.
SINNED AGAINST.
Liane's first inclination was not to comply with the request, forknowing the crafty nature of this woman, she feared that the words hadbeen written merely to place her off her guard. Yet immediately afterluncheon at the Villa Chevrier on the following day she declared herintention of going down to the English library to get some books, andleaving her father and the Prince smoking over their liqueurs, went outupon the Promenade. As soon, however, as she was out of sight of thewindows of the villa, she hailed a passing cab and drove to the GrandHotel, where she found George sitting in a wicker-chair in the doorway,consoling himself by smoking a cigarette and awaiting her.
"You have come at last," he cried, approaching the carriage. "Don't getout. We will drive straight to the station," and stepping in, he gavethe man directions.
"What does this mean?" inquired Liane, eagerly.
"I cannot tell its meaning, dearest," he answered. "I merely received anote, saying that you would call for me on your way to Monaco."
"Have you no idea why she desires to see both of us?"
"None whatever," he replied.
"You have found her," she observed in a deep, earnest tone. "In myletter she says that you are her friend. You don't know her truecharacter, I suppose," his well-beloved added, looking earnestly intohis eyes. "If you did you would not visit her."
"She lives in an air of the most severe respectability," he said. "Idined at the Villa Fortunee the night before last, and found her anextremely pleasant hostess."
She smiled. Then, while driving along the Avenue de la Gare to thestation she told him of Mariette's past in similar words to those usedby Madame Bertholet. He sat listening eagerly, but a dark shadowcrossed his features when, in conclusion, she added, "Such,unfortunately, is the woman who is to be bribed to marry you."
They alighted, obtained their tickets, crossed the platform, and enteredthe _rapide_. It was crowded with people going to Monte Carlo, and thetunnels rendered the journey hot, dusty and unpleasant. Neverthelessthe distance was not far, and when half-an-hour later they wereascending the steep winding way which led up to the rock of Monaco,Liane's heart sank within her, for she feared that she was actingunwisely.
"It is very remarkable that Mariette should have written to us both inthis manner," George was saying as he strolled on beside the pale-facedgraceful girl. "Evidently she desires to consult us upon some matter ofurgency. Perhaps it concerns us both. Who knows?"
"It may," she answered mechanically. "She is not, however, a person totrust. Women of her character have, alas! neither feeling nor honour."
"Is she, then, so notoriously bad?" he asked in surprise.
"You know who and what I am," she answered, turning to him, her gravegrey eyes fixed upon his. "I have been forced against my inclination tofrequent the gambling-rooms through months, nay years, and I knewMariette Lepage long ago as the most vicious of all the women whohovered about the tables in search of dupes."
By her manner he saw that she was annoyed, and jealous that he shouldhave visited and dined with this woman so strangely referred to in hisfather's will, and he hastened to re-assure her that there was but onewoman in the world for him.
"Then you will not marry her?" she cried eagerly. "Do not, for my sake.If you knew all you would rather cast the money into yonder sea thanbecome her husband."
"Well," he said, "it is imperative that she should be offered the bribeto become my wife. If she refuses I shall gain fifty thousand pou
nds.I have thought of buying her refusal by offering to divide equally withher the sum I shall obtain."
"Excellent!" she cried, enthusiastically. "I never thought of that. Ifshe will do so the cruel punishment your father intended will be turnedto pleasure, and you will be twenty-five thousand pounds the richer."
"I will approach her," he said, after brief hesitation. "You know,darling, that I love you far too well to contemplate marriage with anyother woman."
"But remember, I can never become your wife," she observed huskily, hereyes behind her veil filled to overflowing with tears. "I am debarredfrom that."
"Ah! no," he cried, "don't say that. Let us hope on."
"All hope within me is dead," she answered gloomily. "I care nothingnow for the future. In a few brief days we are leaving here, and Ishall say farewell, George, never again to meet you."
"You always speak so strangely and so dismally," he said. "You willnever tell me anything of the reason you are so irrevocably bound toZertho. In the old days at Stratfield you always took me into yourconfidence."
"Yes, yes," she answered, quickly. "I would tell you everything if Icould--but I dare not. You would hate me."
"Hate you. Why?"
"You could no longer grasp my hand or kiss my lips," she faltered. "No,you must not, you shall not know, for I could not bear that you of allmen should spurn me, leave me, and remember me only with loathing. Icould not bear it. I would rather kill myself."
She was trembling, her breast rose and fell with the exertion of thesteep ascent, and her face was blanched and haggard. Her attitude,whenever he referred to Zertho, always mystified and puzzled him. Hadshe not spoken vaguely of some strange crime?
Yet he loved her with all the strength of his being, and the sight ofher terrible anxiety and dread pained him beyond measure. He was readyand willing to do anything to assist and liberate her from themysterious thraldom, nevertheless she preserved a silence dogged andcomplete. He strove to discern a way out of the complicated situation,but could discover none.
"Have you ever been to the Villa Fortunee before?" he asked presently,after a long and painful silence, when they had crossed the sunny squarebefore the Prince's palace, and were strolling along the road whichskirted the rock with the small blue bay to their left and the whitehouses of Monte Carlo gleaming beyond.
"No," she answered. "I had no idea Mariette, `The Golden Hand,' livedhere. She used always to live at the little bijou villa in the RueCotta at Nice."
"The Golden Hand!" he exclaimed, laughing. "Why do you call her that?"
"It is the name she has earned at the tables because of herextraordinary good fortune," Liane answered. "Her winnings attrente-et-quarante are said to have been greater perhaps than any otherplayer during the past few years."
At that moment the road turned sharply, almost at right angles, andLiane found herself before the great white house where lived thenotorious gambler, the woman whose powdered, painted face every habitueof Monte Carlo knew so well, and whose luck was the envy of them all.
She read the name of the villa upon the marble tablet, and for a momenthesitated and held back, fearing to meet face to face the woman she heldin fear. But George had already entered the gateway and ascended thesteps, and she felt impelled to follow, a few moments later taking aseat in the cool handsome salon where the flowers diffused a sweetsubtle perfume, and the light was softly tempered by the closedsun-shutters.
Liane and her lover sat facing each other, the silence being completesave for the swish of the sea as it broke ever and anon upon the brownrocks deep below. A moment later, however, there was a sound of theopening and shutting of doors, and with a frou-frou of silk thereentered "The Golden Hand."
She wore an elegant dress of pale mauve trimmed with velvet, and as shecame forward into the room a smile of welcome played upon her lips, butGeorge thought she looked older and more haggard than when he hadvisited her only two days before.
Closing the door quietly behind her, she crossed almost noiselessly towhere they were seated, and sinking upon a settee expressed pleasure atreceiving their visit.
"I was not exactly certain whether you would come, you know," sheexclaimed, with a coquettish laugh. "I was afraid Liane would refuse."
"You told me that you were her friend," he said.
"And that was the entire truth," she answered.
Liane faced her, her countenance pale, her lips parted. She had heldback in fear when this woman had entered, but the calm expression andpleasant smile had now entirely disarmed her suspicions. Yet she fearedlest this woman whom she had known in the old days, should divulge thesecret she had kept from her lover. George, the man she adored, was,she knew, fast slipping away from her. On the one hand she was forcedto marry Zertho, while on the other this very woman, whom she feared,was to be bribed to accept her lover as husband. Liane looked into herface and tried to read her thoughts. But her countenance had grown coldand mysterious.
"You were not always my friend," she said at last, in a low, strainedtone.
"No, not always," the woman admitted, in English. "I have seldom beengenerous towards my own sex. I was, it is true, Liane, until recently,your enemy," she added, in a sympathetic tone. "I should be now if itwere not for recent events."
"You intend, then, to prove my friend," Liane gasped excitedly,half-rising from her chair. "You--you will say nothing."
"On the contrary, I shall speak the truth."
"Ah, no," she wailed. "No, spare me that. Think! Think! surely my lotis hard enough to bear! Already I have lost George, the man I love."
"Your loss is my gain," Mariette Lepage said slowly. "You have lost alover, while I have found a husband."
"And you will marry him--you?" she cried, dismayed.
"I know what are your thoughts," the other said. "My reputation isunenviable--eh?"
Liane did not answer; her lover sat rigid and silent.
"Well," went on the woman known at the tables as "The Golden Hand," "Icannot deny it. All that you see here, my house, my furniture, mypictures, the very clothes I wear, I have won fairly at the tables,because--well, because I am, I suppose, one of the fortunate ones.Others sit and ruin themselves by unwise play, while I sit beside themand prosper. Because of that, I am pointed out by men and women as akind of extraordinary species, and shunned by all save the professionalplayers to whom you and I belong. But," she added, gazing meaningly atLiane, "you know my past as well as I know yours."
The words caused her to turn pale as death, while her breath came andwent quickly. She was in momentary dread lest a single word of theterrible truth she was striving to hide should involuntarily escape her.
"Yes," Liane said, "I knew you well when I went daily to the Casino, andhave often envied you, for while my father lost and lost you invariablywon and crammed handsful of notes into your capacious purse. At first Ienvied you, but soon I grew to hate you."
"You hated me, because even into my hardened heart love had found itsway," she said reproachfully.
"I hated you because I knew that you loved only gold. I had seensufficient of you to know that you had no higher thought than of thechances of the red or the black. You had been aptly nicknamed `TheGolden Hand.'"
"And I, too, envied you," the other said. "I envied you your grace andyour beauty; yet often I felt sorry for you. You seemed so jaded andworld-weary, although so young, that it was a matter of surprise thatthey gave you your carte at the Bureau."
"Now, strangely enough, we are rivals," Liane observed.
"Only because you are beneath the thrall of one who holds you in hispower," Mariette answered. "You love each other so fervently that Icould never be your rival, even if you were free."
"But, alas! I am not free," she said, in deep despondency, her eyesdowncast, her head resting upon her hand.
"True," said the other, shrugging her shoulders. "Circumstances havecombined to weave about you a web in which you have become enmeshed.You a
re held by bonds which, alone and unassisted, you cannot breakasunder."
Liane, overcome with emotion she could no longer restrain, covered herface with her hands and burst into a torrent of tears. In an instanther lover was beside her, stroking her hair fondly, uttering words ofsympathy and tenderness, and endeavouring to console her.
Mariette Lepage sat erect, motionless, silent, watching them.
"Ah!" she said slowly at length, "I know how fondly you love each other.I have myself experienced the same grief, the same bitterness as thatwhich is rending your hearts at this moment, even though I am believedto be devoid of every passion, of every sentiment, and of every womanlyfeeling."
"Let me go!" Liane exclaimed, in a voice broken by sobs, risingunsteadily from her chair. "I--I cannot bear it."
"No, remain," the woman said in a firm tone, a trifle harsher thanbefore. "I asked you here to-day because I wished to speak to you. Iinvited the man you love, because it is but just that he should hearwhat I have to say."
"Ah!" she sobbed bitterly. "You will expose me--you who have only justdeclared that you are my friend!"
"Be patient," the other answered. "I know your fear. You dread that Ishall tell a truth which you dare not face."
She