Chapter VIII (2)

The pianist, after this first moment of success, played with a certain assurance. The Duchess, sitting motionless at his back, seemed to communicate her confidence to him. He dealt several times successfully, and as the money in the bank was considerably increased, the cupidity of the gamblers was aroused. Those who laughed at Spadoni's clumsiness, now frowned with aggressive interest, taking part in the playing. Thus as the capital increased, the stakes grew higher. Every one felt there was going to be a great and exciting game. The banker had forgotten the Duchess and his own humbleness. He imagined that what he was winning was his own; he believed he had discovered the secret mentioned by Novoa, which was going to win those fabulous sums, on which his imagination had played so often as he wrote dozens and dozens of zeros on a piece of paper. What a night! And to think that his friend, the scientist, was not there to witness his triumph!

Lubimoff withdrew from the table. It hurt him to see Alicia's forced serenity, and her manner of smoking while she watched the progress of the gambling with feline eyes. Luck was going to change any moment. This mad continual winning could not go on. The Greek was making an effort to hide his anger, playing and losing like an ordinary bettor. He could not call "bank" until a second deal began after all the cards in the double box were exhausted. But he stuck to his original bet with the tenacity of a bull dog, convinced that sooner or later he would succeed in getting the better of this mockery of chance. He had more money than Alicia and her representative, he would be able to hold out against fate, and in the end could beat them.

The Prince went to the bar, passing the time by sipping two American mixed drinks, which were sweet and bitter at the same time, and heavy with alcohol. He wanted to become slightly intoxicated, in order to feel himself on the same level with the woman who was appealing so desperately to luck.

He found himself alone. The entire Club was huddled together in the _baccarat_ room. Michael lamented the fact that Castro was not at the Sporting-Club. They would have been able to chat together as they had the afternoon that Alicia succeeded for the first time in clutching the golden wings of the Chimera. Perhaps his absence was due to an order from the "General". He himself had come there dragged by a woman!

A dull murmur came from the gambling room. Shortly afterwards he saw a few of the onlookers entering the cafe, and standing at the bar to drink. They were talking in tones of wonder and amazement. Hearing the name of the Greek repeated several times, Michael listened. The former had shouted "bank" at the beginning of a new hand, when the bank contained a hundred and forty thousand francs. No one but that lucky fellow was capable of such daring. He drew eight, but the pianist immediately showed his cards. Nine once more. And the _croupier_ had swept the Greek's one hundred and forty thousand into the bank. What a night! And to think that that fool of a Spadoni was the man who was doing such wonders!

A few women passed the door of the bar with an ill-humored air, gesticulating among themselves. They appeared scandalized and annoyed by the Duchess de Delille's good fortune, in spite of the fact that none of them had lost a cent in the play. Such luck was unnatural; there must have been some cheating. They could not say in what the cheating consisted, but it existed undoubtedly.

Later they saw the Greek, followed by two admirers. His face was sweating, his shirt-bosom wrinkled, and his vest had worked up, showing his shirt between the gray silk points and his belt. He was shrugging his shoulders scornfully. The world was upside down: there was no such thing as logic any more. That was why the war was going so badly!

And the Greek walked away in the direction of the subterranean passage, to return to the Hotel de Paris. He did not care to see any more of it: it was a night for lunatics!

Neither did the Prince care to be a witness, and he remained in his armchair, asking for another cocktail. In front of the door he could see passing those whom another's good luck had embittered, and were fleeing, and those who were arriving, attracted by the news of the event.

He remained alone, like a spectator who stays in the lobby of a theater and listens to the far-off pulsing thrills of the audience. Long intervals of silence passed. Later, there was a murmur, a sigh from the crowd, a buzz of exclamations circulating in low tones. Was Alicia still winning? Or was he going to see her appear like the Greek, shrugging her shoulders at the absurdity of fate?

He asked for still another glass; and gazing at the spirals of smoke from his cigar, he was falling asleep. Suddenly he sat up, imagining he had received a sharp blow on his shoulders. It was a mere illusion! He was alone. Gazing about him, he noticed the clock. It was two. He stood up and slowly walked toward the _baccarat_ room.

The crowd had thinned out, but all those who had remained were taking a hand in the play. The enormous sum amassed by the Bank was a temptation. No need to fear that the winners would not be paid! Even the mere spectators who spend the night on their feet, sharing other people's emotion, were risking their money _louis_ by _louis_, hoping that this burst of luck which wholly favored the bank, would change in favor of the crowd.

The first thing that Michael saw was an enormous heap of thousand franc notes, five thousand franc chips, and chips and bills of various amounts. It was a fortune. Then he noticed Alicia, sitting motionless in her seat, just as he had left her, with the expressionless face of a caryatid. Her eyes merely looked mechanically back and forth from that heap of wealth to the hands of the banker. She was smoking, smoking. On a tray which a lackey had placed reverently beside the victorious woman there was a pile of gold-tipped cigarette butts.

She seemed stupefied by her success, by the monotony of her constant luck.

The pianist was beginning to display a certain somnolence in his looks and in his voice. Mere winning seemed something insipid to him, after the flight of that admirable Greek. Similarly other famous gamblers had disappeared, as though not caring to authenticate by their presence such an absurd run of luck. The only real competitors were some English people from Beaulieu, whose automobiles were waiting below. This extraordinary game interested them, as though it were some unusual sport; they were anxious to fight against the Bank's good luck, with British tenacity, merely for the pleasure of overcoming it. The women, bony and distinguished looking, with very low necks and long trails to their gowns, ejaculated "oh!" in amazement, each time the _croupier_ with his rake carried off their heavy bets, while the men drew from inner pockets of their Tuxedos, new handfuls of bills, greeting their defeat with metallic laughter.

In one blow Spadoni lost twenty thousand francs. Lubimoff had the fatal presentiment of a sailor who feels beneath his feet the shudder of the ship about to be torn open, of the soldier who feels instinctively the beginning of his rout.

Another blow; and the bank lost again.

Michael cautiously drew near the chair occupied by Alicia.

"It is two o'clock. It is time to go home," he murmured, whispering his words into her hair as he bent over her. "You are going to have a run of bad luck: I can feel it coming. Tell Spadoni to get up."

She raised her eyes and looked at him in surprise. She seemed intoxicated, unable to make out what he was saying, and showed her refusal by a slight shake of her head. She had faith in her own luck.

Fortune saw to it that her confidence was justified. The banker was winning again, carrying off all the sums placed on both sides of the table. But this did not convince the Prince. He continued to feel afraid, and his worry made him brutal.

He went over and stood at Spadoni's back, in order to drop a word to him discreetly, while looking in another direction. "You ought to stop at once. Call the game off. It's long after closing time anyhow."

The banker turned his face and looked up at him in order to see what sage was dropping these words of wisdom from on high. "Oh, your Highness!" This discovery was accompanied by a proud smile, evincing satisfaction that Prince Lubimoff should have witnessed the greatest deed of his life.

And he went on dealing.

Michael grew angry. This idiot, overwhelmed by his triumph, did not understand him, and if he did understand him, he was refusing to obey. The voice of the Prince, falling with a slow tremor, reached the ears of the man below. "Spadoni, you incredible fool of a pianist"--here two or three oaths in various languages.--If Spadoni did not obey him at once he would jerk him out of the chair with a thud, and give him a kick that would send him flying through the windows!

"The last deal!" said the banker.

And when he stopped dealing, many of the spectators breathed freely, satisfied and relieved by the end of a game that seemed to have been under an evil spell. Others gazed with astonishment and envy at the enormous heap of money in the bank, as the _croupier_ put it in order, forming bundles of bills, and straightening the various colored chips in columns.

The sum ran from mouth to mouth: four hundred and ninety-four thousand francs! A little more and it would have been half a million. Rarely had such a rapid winning been seen.

Spadoni, as though he were the master of these riches, was putting them into a little wicker basket. He was trembling with emotion. He was going to walk through the crowd of onlookers carrying this treasure, just as on former nights he had seen his hero pass, with the air of a conqueror. In comparison with this what did he care for the applause he had received as a pianist!

But eager hands snatched the basket from him.

"No! let me! let me!" It was the Duchess; it was no longer necessary any more for her to claim indifference. That money was hers. She had become transfigured by coming out of her eager trance-like silence. Her eyes were shining with a triumphant gleam, her brow was pearled with sweat, her cheeks, which were intensely pale, quivered. Carrying the basket, with her arms held out before her, she slowly passed among the groups, with priestly majesty, walking in the direction of the cashier's cage.

Spadoni remained beside the Prince. He, too, was perspiring, and his features were pale with emotion.

"What a night, Your Highness! What a night!"

He looked proudly at every one, but smiled humbly at the owner of Villa Sirena. He must make the Prince forget his refusal of moments before, and the terrible threats which had been visited upon it.

A moment later Alicia returned to them, carrying a paper in her hand-bag.

The pianist's enthusiasm overflowed.

"Oh, Duchess! Divine Duchess!"

He kissed one of her bare arms, then a shoulder. Alicia smiled at this public homage. The poor pianist, no matter what he might do, could not compromise her.

"Thanks, Spadoni, you may count on my gratitude. Go ahead and decide what you want, a house, a yacht, or perhaps a piano with golden keys."

Michael listened in amazement. She was speaking in all sincerity: as though her fortune had turned her mind.

But the pianist left them. He felt he must be alone. By the Duchess' side he was obliged to share his glory, contenting himself with but a fragment of it. And he went off to join the English people from Beaulieu, who, proclaiming him the most interesting phenomenon they had met in all their travels, were anxious to meet and share a bottle of champagne with him.

Alicia and the Prince walked toward the cloak room.

"I have deposited my winnings with the cashier of the Club," she said, showing him the receipt. "I am not going to carry so much money home at night. To-morrow I shall come to take it to the bank. I need some one to accompany me. Send me the Colonel: he is a fighter and must have a revolver."

Then, remembering something important, her features took on a grave look.

"I need not say that to-morrow we will straighten our account. Don't think I have forgotten what I owe you: the twenty thousand francs from the other day, and your mother's three hundred thousand. It will all be paid."

Michael showed the astonishment which this promise caused him by a prolonged laugh. Really, her winning had affected her brain. A piano with golden keys for the other man, and now hundreds of thousands of francs for him. The fortune recently acquired in two hours seemed to her as extraordinary and limitless as her good luck itself had been.

"What I want," he added, in a low tone, ceasing to laugh, "what I want from you, you know very well."

She stopped him with a caressing look and a discreet whisper which was equivalent to a promise.

They descended the large stairway in the Club, and were standing in the vestibule, she wrapped in a silk cape embroidered with gold and adorned with rich furs, which recalled her evenings after the opera in Paris; he, with his overcoat open and a soft silk-lined hat on his head.

The employees in the vestibule, informed of what had happened in the gambling rooms, hurried to the glass door in a hope of a handsome tip. "A carriage for the Duchess!"

But she wanted to walk in the silence of the night. She was numbed from remaining motionless so long, and felt the need, like every one who feels happy, of prolonging the joy of her triumph by a long walk.

She descended the outer stairway leaning on Michael's arm. They passed between the drivers and the few chauffeurs who were standing about in groups, waiting for the owners of their machines, or for possible patrons.

They went down into the cool night air, with their eyes still tired, from the splendor of the illumination, their skins hot from the heavy atmosphere of the gaming rooms. They both noticed that it was a moonlight night, with a sad, waning moon that was beginning to drop behind the dark barrier of the Alps. The submarine menace kept the city in darkness. At long intervals, pale lamps, the glass of which was painted blue, cast above themselves a narrow circle of funereal light.

After a few steps, they grew accustomed to the darkness. In the street the ground was divided into two bands, one a pale, dim white reflected from the dying moon, the other dark, with the heavy black shade of ebony. Instinctively, they walked along the dark sidewalk, as though afraid of being seen. They wound along through a curving, sloping street, the same that made its way underground by the Pompeian corridor and which the Prince had taken a few hours before.

At their backs they could still hear the conversations of the drivers hidden by a turn in the street, the voices of the Club servants calling by the owners' names for the carriages; the stamping of the horses, shaking off sleep as they waited, and the first humming of the motors that began once more to function. Michael, who was walking along in silence, with a desire to get away from there as soon as possible and seek absolute solitude, on seeing her pause, was obliged to stop. She had anticipated his thoughts: she did not care to go any farther.

"I must reward you!" she murmured. "I told you that at any event you would gain by coming, even though I should lose. There ... there."

Her bare arms, freeing themselves from the silken cape, closed about his shoulders, forming a tight ring; submissively her mouth sought his, humbly abandoning itself, with a desire of giving happiness.

At the end of the street a sudden illumination flared up, making the scene stand out against the shadows, like a flash of lightning. It was the searchlight of an automobile. She did not move, she was not afraid of being surprised: people were mere phantoms, without any reality whatsoever. Nothing existed in the world at that moment save themselves and the heap of paper bills, and pieces of ivory guarded in the steel vault.

All his life Michael remembered that night. The clocks were doubtless mad, turning like his head, which seemed in a whirl, following the rhythm of sweet music. He had a feeling that they passed the same place several times, going back and forth as they walked, without knowing what they were doing. What difference did it make? The important thing was that they were together. There was a moment in which they both seemed to awaken, finding themselves seated on a bench, in the Casino Square. The Prince was sure of it. He had looked at the clock on the facade. It was three o'clock! It seemed impossible, he firmly believed that only a few minutes had passed since they left the Club. And they were obliged to walk away, annoyed by the curiosity of a civilian who was doing police duty in war time, a member of the Prince's militia in citizen's clothes, with a colored band on his arm and a revolver at his belt.

Once more they walked through the deserted streets or along the public gardens, closed at that hour. Her body was thrown back, with her cape open, she was hanging limp upon his arm which was thrown about her waist, and she offered a tensely drawn throat and an upturned face to a rain of kisses. She looked up at her companion, with eyes dreamy with love. Her caresses rose slowly and voluptuously in a crescendo, as sea flowers and stars arise from the blue depths in search of light.

Replying to the mute appeal of the eyes that were imploring from above, she murmured several times, in a faraway voice, as though talking in a dream:

"Yes, all you wish ... all you wish!"

More aggressive in his passion, he buried his free arm in the warm circle of her cape, drawing her closer to him.

They walked along in a wavering course, imagining they were going in a straight line; in certain spots they both stopped at the same time, without knowing why. Their loitering caused a commotion in the villas. The gardeners' dogs howled furiously at these intruders, thrusting their noses against the iron gates. This howling sounded to the lovers like barbaric but agreeable music, feeling benevolently toward everything that surrounded them, they imagined themselves the lords of creation, just as at that moment they were masters of the night. Nothing save themselves existed in the world.

Michael, obeying an obscure impulse he did not understand, spoke to her of her son. She would recover him at any moment now, and her happiness would be complete.... Immediately he repented having awakened this memory, which might break the enchantment in which they were living. But she showed no emotion.

"Yes, I will recover him," she murmured. "I am sure of it. My good luck will not forsake me. It was time, after suffering so long."

And once more she abandoned herself to the present moment. They were both surprised to find themselves in the street where Villa Rosa was located. After wandering about at random, instinctively they had finally come there.

The Prince, emboldened by the long walk filled with kisses and abandonment, became urgent.

"Let me come in," he murmured. "No one will see me.... I will go away before the break of dawn."

Alicia stopped short as though suddenly awakening. It was her first gesture of refusal during the entire night. The gardener was surely waiting, perhaps Valeria had not yet gone to sleep. "Oh, no!"

Lubimoff, in desperation, spoke of their walking together to Villa Sirena.

"So far!" continued Alicia, growing calmer at every moment, as though she were entirely awakened. "Besides, that place is a barracks; a house full of men. And that Castro who tells everything to the 'General'! No, no, I shall never go there. What madness!"

Michael's look of sadness, his gesture of dismay, touched her. She passed her hand over his features with a motherly caress.

"My poor boy: Don't look like that, be patient awhile. To-morrow; I promise you that it will be to-morrow."

She, who in former times had dared the most atrocious scandal with tranquil lack of shame, hesitated and stammered as she spoke of the next day. She seemed like a young girl struggling between love and a fear of compromising her future in society.

To-morrow! To-morrow he might come at three in the afternoon.... No, not at three; four o'clock was better. Valeria surely would have gone out by that time. She would send her maid to Nice to do some shopping; the gardener and his wife would be busy outside the house.

"But in Heaven's name, be careful! If you can manage so that the neighbors don't see you, it will be much better."

And the famous Prince Lubimoff visibly moved, like a boy planning his initiation into love, and prematurely stirred by its mysteries, assented to this counsel.

He insisted, in spite of her protests, on going with her to the gate of the Villa.

"If you were any one else, all right! It is quite natural that a friend should accompany me at such an hour; but you!... I am afraid that every one will guess our secret."

It was not until the gate was closed and Alicia's adorable figure was lost in the darkness, that the Prince could decide to go away.

He was obliged to walk the long distance to Villa Sirena, and nevertheless the road seemed short to him. Memories and promises accompanied him. His step had never been lighter, he seemed to be advancing through air in which the laws of gravitation had been lessened, on a planet wrapped in a perpetual night of springtime, in which the air, the dim trees and the objects lost in the darkness about him, vibrated with a poetic rhythm.

His sleep was restless, but he arose serene and in high spirits. He remembered the errand Alicia had asked him to do. She needed a warrior, with a revolver if possible, to escort her in transferring her fortune from the Club vaults to the bank. The Colonel, deeply impressed at her stroke of luck, went out to perform this task. "Poor Duchess! In the end God always protects the good."

Michael spent the entire morning attending to his personal adornment. His attempts at leading a simple, country life in retirement at Villa Sirena had not made him forget the hygienic care to which he was accustomed since his childhood. But now it was a question of something more; he wanted to make himself look well, and heighten with exquisite and intimate attentions the individuality of his physique, which he suddenly felt had been rather roughly treated by time.

He had his old valet go over the wardrobe he had acquired in former days. He remembered certain under-garments that had merited women's praise. He was as desirous for novelty and seductiveness as a woman dressing for a long-awaited rendezvous. Besides, he chose a suit that he had never worn before in Monte Carlo, a new hat, and a modest tie. He recalled her apprehension, and her request that he should enter unseen.

As he was doing all this, a sinking feeling, of lack of confidence in himself, began to assail him. It was the feeling of uneasiness like that of a student before examination, like that of a dramatist watching from the wings for the fate of his play, like that of a man about to fight a duel. He had spent so many weeks desiring without avail! He had renounced love so long ago! And the thought of Alicia aroused in him both eagerness and terror.

The Colonel returned about noon. He had performed his duties. He told the news with modest brevity, as though he had just accomplished something very important. Michael almost envied him, because he had seen Alicia. "How is she?"

"Beautiful, as beautiful as ever. Somewhat pale, as was natural after such an excitement as that of last night! But gay, very happy, talking constantly about the Marquis. It is easy to guess that she feels a strong affection for him."

They had lunch alone. Spadoni was going out in society, after his triumph. Perhaps he was in Beaulieu with his new friends, the Englishmen. Toledo had met Castro going into the Hotel de Paris, where Dona Clorinda lived. Doubtless they were having lunch together to talk over the winnings of the Duchess. Atilio had even pretended he did not understand when the Colonel talked to him about the event. Envy, of course! The Prince shrugged his shoulders. People were mere phantoms as far as he was concerned, and evil passions were illusions. There were only two realities: he and what was awaiting him.

After lunch he dressed with such attention to the minutest details that the absurdity of it made him smile. He even changed his tie, after he was dressed, looking for another of a quieter color. "Half-past two." He looked at himself from head to foot in the mirror: a dark gray suit, tan shoes, and a light felt hat with broad brim turned down to protect his eyes from the sun. No one had ever seen Prince Lubimoff dressed in such a manner. From a distance one might have taken him for one of the travelers who visit the Riviera in passing, and come to make the acquaintance of roulette at Monte Carlo in an afternoon, and go away again immediately.

Three o'clock! He left Villa Sirena. It was a long way and he wanted to walk it. The exercise would fortify his will and dispel the doubt which was assailing him anew. He thought of how he had performed the same supreme intimate act so many times in former years, as something ordinary and almost mechanical. His suspicious isolation during the last few months seemed to have numbed him. He felt the lack of confidence of an athlete who has left off exercising and doubts whether he can summon all his former strength again. Fear at the mere idea of a failure restored his confidence. Such a thing was impossible! Forward march!

On reaching Monte Carlo, he climbed the long stone steps as far as the streets of Beausoleil. He considered it advisable to go out of his way thus to carry out in the fullest detail the counsels of prudence that Alicia had given him.

He planned to enter her street from above, where there were no houses. In this way he would avoid any of her neighbors who at that hour might be going down town.

Above the building plots where houses were going up and the stairways which were winding down the slope, he could overlook a large expanse of sea, and on the shore the groves of the gardens, with a bird's-eye view of the huge mass of the Casino, with its green tiles and the yellow cupolas of its halls, the wide square, the little circular garden of the "Camembert," and around it numerous people the size of ants.

The Prince had a feeling of pity for those pigmies. Unhappy men! They were going to gamble, to shut themselves up between four walls, under artificial light, with no other dreams than those of money. For him something better was awaiting; for a few hours he was going to experience the one interesting intoxication of life. Then he laughed with pity at a certain lunatic, his double, who had tried to found a club group of "women's enemies." Imagine hating love, and trying to live without women; poor Prince Lubimoff!

It was now four o'clock. Passing among tiny gardens which seemed miles away from a crowded city, he entered Alicia's street. The red roof of Villa Rosa was peeping out from among the trees, almost at his feet. He kept on descending. His legs trembled slightly, and he stopped for a moment to regain his poise, raising his hand to his breast. Rounding a bend, all of the street that was built up appeared, straight and gently sloping down to where it joined one of the avenues of Monte Carlo.

No one was in sight, and he hastened to slip into Villa Rosa before any neighbors appeared. He passed the gardens rapidly, with the air of a man afraid of being late at a game of cards. He found the gate half open. It was a good sign: Alicia had thought of facilitating his entry.

He crossed the little garden, and thought he saw the frightened face of the gardener, peeping over some shrubbery for a moment, then hiding again precipitously. There was something strange about that man's curiosity and his look of fear. But he was hurrying away, and the Prince was pleased at his discretion.

With a flutter of emotion, he climbed the four steps of the door. With each one there awoke in his imagination a fresh dream picture, softly rose-colored like women's flesh, a sweet unconfessable vision which suddenly brought back his past. More with his memory than with his sense of smell, he perceived in the atmosphere a well-known perfume, her perfume. Everything seemed to be whirling about him with hazy contours. There was a buzzing in his ears; desire electrified him drawing his muscles taut, just as in his happiest days. And with the bearing of a conqueror, he pushed open the door, which was unlocked.

A woman came forward to meet him in the vestibule, a woman whose presence caused him to draw back.

Valeria! What was she doing there? What sort of a farce was this?

The young woman tried to speak, and he, too, wished to speak at the same time. But neither was able.

Another woman appeared, opening the door abruptly. It was Alicia, with her clothes in disorder and her hair wildly streaming. On seeing the Prince, she raised her arms and came forward, impetuous and silent, as though to embrace him. At last!... What did he care if Valeria were present: he did not see her. On the other hand, Alicia seemed different to him; taller than ever, and paler, with eyes that suddenly inspired fear.

Her arms fell about him, and immediately her whole body seemed to totter, bereft of strength. He felt a panting breast against his own; her arms were as cold as those of a corpse; a rain of hot tears began to bathe his neck.

"Michael! Michael!" Alicia groaned.

It was all she could say. She was choking, the sobs catching in her throat as though a strangling lump were fixed within it.

The Prince was obliged to summon all his strength to sustain the inert body. A voice sounded in his ear, with the same low monotonous tone that is heard in a chamber of death.

It was that of Valeria, who was also weeping, feeling afresh the contagion of tears.

"He is dead! He died a month ago!"

And she showed him a little yellow paper that had arrived half an hour before: a telegram from Madrid.