mademoiselle," she continued menacingly, "you may wellhide your face. Some day you will curse the chance which brought youand Hugh together. You little suspect the revenge that I am waitingfor."
Pausing in thought, she ran her fingers through her dishevelled hair.
"And yet," she cried in dismay, as the sudden thought occurred to her,"by unmasking you, Hugh would suffer, for he adores you! The discoveryof your villainy would break his heart. You are his wife--his wife--andfor me--for me he cares nothing!"
A tear trickled down her cheek, but it was only for an instant; shebrushed it away, and stood motionless for several minutes gazingdisconsolately into the fire. Then she noticed that Jack's secretairebookcase, which stood close beside her, was open. Feminine curiosity atonce asserted itself, and the thought crossed her mind that it waspossible she might discover some clue to the secret between theFrenchwoman and the artist.
At once she proceeded to search, at the same time listening attentivelyfor any sign of the approach of Mrs. O'Shea. Prying among the papers inthe desk she could discover nothing which had any interest for her amongthe bills, letters, theatre programmes and memoranda it contained.Turning her attention to the small drawers above, her search was equallyfruitless. One drawer she opened, however, contained nothing but an oldnewspaper folded small and lying along the bottom. A red mark upon itattracted her, and she took it out and unfolded it, but withdisappointment she found herself unable to read it, as it was in French.Half a column on the front page had been marked round boldly with a redpencil, and was evidently some important report which had been carefullypreserved. The heading was set in great capitals, and the type waslarger than that in the body of the paper.
She glanced down the lines of print, but they were unintelligible toher. The heading, which was the only sentence she could make out, was"Le Mystere du Boulevard Haussmann," and the newspaper was the Paris_Gaulois_. Truth to tell, it was the paper which Egerton had abstractedfrom the bureau at Coombe when Dolly and he had visited Trethowen.
The "Sultan's Favourite" carefully scanned each line in an endeavour todiscover some word that was familiar, but found none. She knew itcontained details of some mystery or other, and that was sufficientincentive for her to try and translate it. Soon, however, she foundthat all her efforts were futile; so, refolding it, she was about toreplace it in its former position when she suddenly reflected that ifshe copied out a portion of it she might get it translated by agoverness who lodged in the same house as herself, and with whom she wason friendly terms.
Taking a seat at the desk, she spread out the paper before her, andcarefully copied several sentences, taking heed to place the accentsaccurately, and scrupulously avoiding errors in orthography. Havingcovered two sheets of notepaper, she replaced the newspaper in thedrawer, afterwards going into her dressing-room and putting her notesinto the pocket of her dress.
Once or twice she felt inclined to laugh at herself for attaching somuch importance to a mere newspaper report which seemed to containnothing to connect it with the persons in whom she was interested,nevertheless she felt convinced that no clue was too small orinsignificant for her to investigate. One discovery, amazing yetincomprehensible, she had already made, and it had whetted her desire toknow the whole truth in order that her revenge might be more complete.
Egerton returned shortly afterwards. Handing her a bag of burnt almondsof a kind for which she had a particular weakness, he expressed a hopethat she had not been dull, and quickly prepared to resume his work.With eyes sparkling like those of a spoiled child, she tasted thealmonds, and gave him one, then, flinging aside her wrap, lay again uponthe divan before him, laughing, and crunching her sweets.
The artist was in a mood even more joyful than before he went out, thecause being that he had been given commission for a portrait that was atonce easy and lucrative, a fact which he triumphantly announced to hismodel, and upon which she congratulated him.
In November the light in London grows yellow early, and before fouro'clock the artist had to lay down his palette for the day. Tea wasbrought in a few minutes later, and the pair sat _tete-a-tete_ beforethe blazing fire, Dolly listening to the painter's technical descriptionof the picture that he had been commissioned to execute.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.
WITHOUT THE QUEEN'S PROCTOR.
The last act of a matrimonial drama was being watched attentively by sixrows of eager spectators.
Already the gas had been lit, for the dull yellow light of the wintryLondon moon was insufficient to illuminate the sombre Court. Upon thebench, at the rear of which hung a large square board covered withdark-blue cloth and bearing a golden anchor, the judge sat--grave,silent, almost statuesque. The public who filled the tiers of seatsbefore him listened intently to every word of the story of a woman'sfaithlessness, which counsel was relating. It was an undefended, andtherefore not an unusually interesting case. Nevertheless, the DivorceCourt has an attraction for the curious, and is nearly always crowded,even when there are scarcely a dozen people in any of the Queen's Benchor Chancery Divisions. The very word divorce is sufficient to interestsome, and for the novelty of the thing they desire to witness theprocedure by which husband and wife are disunited.
Perhaps such curiosity is pardonable. It certainly is more excusablethan the ignominious conduct of some _soi-disant_ ladies, who considerit good form to attend a Criminal Court where a woman is indicted formurder, and there watch and comment audibly, and with heartlessinhumanity, upon the agonies of their wretched sister who is being triedfor her life. Such scenes at recent trials of unfortunate women havebeen a scandal to our civilisation.
In the Divorce Court, however, it is different. The surroundings aremore refined. The _denouement_ of the marriage drama there enactedfrequently develops into broad comedy before the curtain is rung down bythe judicial decision. Even there, however, women gloat over thestories of the domestic woe of another woman, and ridicule the deceivedhusband with a cool indifference that is astounding; they are apparentlyquite unimpressed by the gravity of the question at issue.
The President had already disposed of half a dozen undefended suits,when the case of Willoughby _versus_ Willoughby and Lapasque had beencalled on.
"Pardon me, Mr. Grover. My attention was diverted for the moment, and Idid not catch your opening sentences," the judge was saying to counselfor the petitioner.
"The facts of the case before you, m'lord, are briefly these," exclaimedthe barrister, recommencing. "The petitioner, Captain Willoughby, lateof the 10th Hussars, married the respondent, a French subject, at St.Mary Abbot's, Kensington, in June, 1884. The parties lived happily atBrighton, Leeds, Toulon, and other places until about a year hadelapsed, when frequent quarrels arose. The petitioner discovered thathis wife was carrying on an intrigue with a wealthy young man namedArthur Kingscote, with whom she had been acquainted before marriage.This led to an encounter between the two men at a Manchester hotel, withthe result that my client was severely injured in the head, inconsequence of which petitioner took proceedings against Kingscote, whowas fined at the Manchester Police Court for the assault. Thisapparently incensed the respondent, and quarrels became of more frequentoccurrence, until one day, while living at San Remo, Mrs. Willoughbyleft her home unexpectedly, and never returned. Eventually, after along series of inquiries, the petitioner found that his wife was livingat Nice, and that she had formed a _liaison_ with the co-respondent,Gustava Lapasque, who is one of the officials connected with the Casinoat Monte Carlo. The evidence I shall call before you, m'lord, willprove the latter part of my statement; and as I understand there is noone present representing either respondent or co-respondent, I shall askyour lordship to pronounce the decree usual in such a case."
The captain having briefly borne out the statement of his counsel, thelatter turned to the usher, saying--
"Call Giovanni Moretti, please."
In a few minutes a dapper and rather well-dressed Italian stepped intothe witness-box.
/> "What are you, Signore Moretti?" asked Mr. Grover, when the witness hadbeen sworn and his name taken.
"Head waiter at the Hotel Victoria, Nice," he replied in broken English.
"Do you recognise this lady?" counsel asked, handing up a cabinetphotograph of Valerie.
"Yes," he said, taking a long glance at it. "The lady is MadameLapasque."
"And this photograph?" continued Mr. Grover, handing him another.
"Monsieur Lapasque. They both stayed at our hotel for nearly threemonths the summer before last. They came in July and left in October."
"During those months would you have many visitors at your hotel?"
"No; very few. It is not our season."
"In that case you would have plenty of facilities for observing them?"
"I saw them perhaps a dozen times each