CHAPTER XIVPLACE AUX DAMES

CHAPTER XIVPLACE AUX DAMES

SELDEN went up to his room and got ready for lunch with a clearer conscience than he had had since he opened his eyes that morning. At last he knew where he was—he was definitely aligned—not on the king’s side, or the prince’s side, or Miss Davis’s side, or the countess’s side, but on Madame Ghita’s side. And there, he was quite sure, he would remain until the end, whatever the end might be. Whatever help he could give her was hers to command. Not that she seemed to need any help! Just the same, there he was, and the consciousness of that fact might be some comfort to her.

And as the first step, he decided to be promptly on time, so that Madame Ghita might find him—her ally!—on the spot when she arrived. So, at one o’clock precisely, he was knocking at the door of the countess’s suite.

It was opened by a heavy-set woman of middle age, Slav or Italian, discretion personified. Evidently the countess chose her maid not for looks but for qualities more useful, and one glance at this woman confirmed him in the opinion that the countess was a born intriguer.

She took his hat and ushered him into the salon, where the countess joined him in a moment.

“I know you will be greatly disappointed,” she said a little maliciously, “but it is not to be a tête-à-tête, after all. Madame Ghita is coming. You see I was right.”

“Yes—and I feel like the second at a duel,” Selden commented.

“Oh, do not be alarmed,” said the countess lightly. “There will be no bloodshed—a few feints at the most. Then she will surrender. What else can she do?”

“I am inclined to think she can upset the whole affair if she wants to—so don’t be too confident. And I warn you that my sympathies are entirely on her side.”

“I know it,” said the countess, looking at him with a strange little smile. “That is one reason I wanted you here.”

And before he had a chance to ask her what she meant by that, the maid ushered in Madame Ghita.

More than ever Selden was reminded of the field of honour by the way the two ladies shook hands, each measuring the other, and he breathed a sigh of relief, for it was instantly evident that Madame Ghita had nothing to fear from her antagonist. She was, as always, calm, smiling, perfectly at ease, while there was in the cheeks of the countess an unwonted flush of colour which betrayed a profound excitement.

“It was too good of you to offer me lunch, madame,” Madame Ghita was saying. “I have heard so much of you from the prince, my husband.”

Certainly, Selden thought, the lady was losing no time, for the last words had been flung at the feet ofthe countess like a gage of battle. But the countess chose for the moment to disregard them.

“Yes,” she said sweetly, “I had the pleasure of meeting Monsieur le Prince a few nights ago. Permit me to present to you a friend of mine, M. Selden.”

“Enchanted,” said madame; “it is always a pleasure to meet Americans,” and she gave Selden her hand, her eyes shining with amusement, with a quick little pressure of the fingers which recognized him as an ally with a secret between them.

The countess had given a signal to her maid, who drew apart the curtains before an alcove looking down upon the public gardens and disclosed the waiting table.

“Come,” she said, and led the way to it, placing Selden on her right and Madame Ghita on her left, facing each other across the centre-piece of feathery mimosa.

“It is delightful here,” said Madame Ghita, looking out across the gardens as she drew off her gloves and tucked them back out of the way. “My apartment is on the other side, facing the south, with a little too much sun. Here you have the sun only in the morning. Are you staying in this hotel also, M. Selden?”

“Yes, madame,” said Selden, “and my room also faces the south; but I do not complain, for I cannot soak up sun enough after two months in the Balkans.”

“You have been in the Balkans? I have never been there. Strange, is it not, when one considers that my husband is prince of a Balkan country. Buthe himself has not been there for a long time—through no fault of his,” she added with a smile.

“It appears he will be going back before long,” remarked the countess.

She had nodded to the maid, who served the hors d’œuvres, taking the dishes from a table near the outer door, where the waiters left them—a discreet arrangement, to which she was apparently well accustomed.

“Yes, I have heard that Baron Lappo has another plot in hand,” said Madame Ghita negligently, and glanced at the maid.

“Ah, you can trust Anita,” said the countess quickly, noticing the glance. “For one thing, she is very deaf.”

Madame Ghita laughed.

“Deafness is very convenient sometimes, is it not? And I can see she is discreet. An old family servant, perhaps?”

“She has been with me for a long time,” said the countess. “She has but one fault—a weakness for gambling. In Paris, she wastes her last sou on the races; here the tables take everything.”

“It is a terrible vice,” agreed Madame Ghita. “Have you been having good luck, M. Selden?”

“Really, madame,” said Selden, “I have never played seriously—I lack the gambler’s instinct. When I am winning, I never dare to push my good luck far enough, and when I am losing, I always stop just too soon. I always hear my number come as I leave the table! To my mind, the only way to play is to sit down certain of winning—resolved to win,or to lose one’s last franc in the effort. But I have not the temperament—I am too cautious.”

“Yes,” said Madame Ghita, “it is so my husband plays—and he always loses his last franc.”

Again it seemed to Selden that there was a trace of defiance in the way she uttered those words—“mon mari”—my husband. It was the third time she had used them since she entered the room.

“He does not always lose, madame,” Selden corrected. “I saw him winning the bank’s last franc a few nights ago.”

“But by this time the bank has them all back again. I sometimes think it is even worse for a gambler to win than to lose. He is encouraged to go on—to commit new follies. You should be thankful you have not the temperament, M. Selden.”

“And you, madame?” he asked.

“Ah, I too gamble sometimes, it is true, not because I have the temperament but because I have great need to distract my thoughts. What would you, monsieur! Here am I the wife of a prince, but not recognized because I have no money; in a position the most equivocal, knowing that schemes are constantly afoot to marry him to some other woman. Is it strange that I become a little mad sometimes and do foolish things? I tremble myself at the things I think of doing—plan out to the last little detail as I lie awake at night staring at the ceiling. I have been to him a faithful wife—I have been discreet—I have asked nothing—I have worked for his interest whenever I could. And what is my reward? That fat Lappo comes to me and insults me!”

“Surely he did not insult you, madame!” protested the countess.

“Is it not an insult to offer a woman a price for her love?” demanded Madame Ghita. “And such a price!”

“If it is only a question of price,” began the countess.

“It is not!” broke in Madame Ghita. “After all, I have my pride! And I have also perhaps more power than they think.”

“But you have always known, madame,” pointed out the countess, “that some day the prince would marry.”

“Yes,” said madame; “but if I wish, I will take him away from his wife on his wedding-night, as I did on the night of his betrothal!” and she attacked her salade viciously. “Oh, I am not a fool,” she went on. “I know what is planned—Danilo confides in me. I know what occurred last night. I had made up my mind to prevent it, but....”

“But your better sense prevailed,” said the countess. “You said to yourself, since a marriage must take place, it may as well be now as any time, more especially since now it will give the dynasty its throne again, while, in another six months, it will be too late.”

“That makes nothing to me!” sniffed Madame Ghita.

“And since it will also give you an annuity,” went on the countess, undisturbed, “on which you can live in comfort—luxury even.”

“I warn you that luxury is expensive.”

“One can live very well,” said the countess, “evenin these days, on a hundred and fifty thousand francs a year.”

There was a moment’s silence. Selden was deeply moved to see a tear roll slowly down Madame Ghita’s cheek and splash into her plate. But there was one tear only; she was herself again in a moment.

“Come,” she said, “I must understand where I am. Is it Lappo who sent you to me?”

“Yes; he asked me to see you, since he had failed himself.”

“I am afraid I was not very polite to the good Lappo,” admitted Madame Ghita, “though I am rather fond of him. But I was annoyed that day, and it seemed to me that he took things too much for granted—as though I had nothing to do but to accept whatever he was pleased to allow me. He is in some ways a great man, and I think he even has a certain fondness for me, but....”

“He has told me as much,” put in the countess.

“But beside this old king of his, this dynasty to which he is a slave, nothing else matters. I am certain he would not hesitate to murder his son, to kill his wife, if he had one, if they stood in its way. He is a fanatic on that subject. It would be a good thing for him if the dynasty perished. There is another thing I do not understand,” she went on, more calmly. “Why is M. Selden present at this discussion? Is he a witness?”

Selden, suddenly crimson, started to rise, but Madame Ghita waved him imperatively back into his seat.

“I am not objecting to your presence, monsieur,”she said quickly. “Pray do not take offence. But I should like to understand it.”

“M. Selden is not here of his own choice,” explained the countess. “He is here because I asked him to come. As a witness, perhaps; but a witness for you, madame, not for me.”

“I do not understand,” said Madame Ghita slowly, her eyes full upon Selden’s.

“Madame,” said the countess, weighing each word and watching its effect, “M. Selden is, as perhaps you do not know, a very great journalist. Unfortunately he has always been an admirer of republics, but the baron has, I think, convinced him that in this case the monarchy can do more for our country than is possible for the present republic. M. Selden’s support will mean a great deal to the monarchy, and the baron has laboured hard to get it; but one scruple remained in M. Selden’s mind—the fear that you would be wronged too much—that you would not be treated fairly. So I asked him to be present to-day in order that he might see for himself what your feeling is. He has warned me more than once that he is here as your ally.”

It was wonderful to see the change which came into Madame Ghita’s eyes as this explanation proceeded—the tenderness, the happiness of the look she turned on Selden. And when it was ended, she held out her hand to him across the table.

“You will forgive me, monsieur,” she said softly. “I am very proud to have such an ally!”

And whether he raised her hand to his lips, or whether it raised itself, he never knew—but as he kissed those long, delicate fingers, he felt them fluttershyly against his mouth, like the wing of a bird.

“Come,” said the countess, who had lost nothing of all this—who had watched it indeed with the satisfaction of a general who sees his plan of battle succeed; “tell me you accept. There is nothing else to be done—your good sense tells you so. What would you gain by making a scene? You might prevent this marriage—though even that is by no means certain. But would that compensate you for ruining the prince, upsetting the dynasty, and condemning yourself to a life of poverty? There will never again be a chance like this. If this is lost, all is lost. You are still young....”

“Yes,” said Madame Ghita with a little smile, “so there is no reason why I should lead a life of poverty, unless I choose it.”

“That is true; but accept now, and you will have something very few women have—independence. You will be free to look for love—to wait for it!”

For an instant Madame Ghita’s eyes rested pensively upon Selden.

“Independence; yes, that is very nice,” she said. “But it is a pleasure to be dependent upon a man when one loves him!” Then she looked at the countess curiously. “I am astonished to find you on this side—so eloquent! I had always understood that you were Jeneski’s friend.”

Selden knew that the countess flushed, though his eyes were on the table. But her hand was in the range of his vision, and he saw that it was trembling.

“That is long since finished,” she said, a littlethickly. “The baron is a much older friend—and I am doing what I think best for my country.”

“And for me also?” asked Madame Ghita, with a strange smile.

“Yes; for you also. Can you doubt it?”

Again there was a moment’s silence. Then Madame Ghita looked across at Selden.

“Come, M. Selden,” she said, “since you are my friend and my ally, what do you advise?”

“Ah, madame,” protested Selden, with a gesture of helplessness, “how can I advise? I do not know what is in your heart!”

“But if my heart is not concerned?”

“In that case,” said Selden, a little coldly, “I should by all means advise you to accept!”

He was looking at her now—at the vivid, mobile mouth with its little mysterious smile; at the eyes curiously intent, as though experience had taught her that she must look into people’s minds as they talked in order to get their full meaning. And suddenly she burst into a peal of laughter.

“How serious you are!” she cried. “And how shocked if, by any chance, a woman tells the truth! Come, it is settled! I accept! The prince shall have his little American with her millions, the king shall have his throne again, Lappo shall have his heart’s desire, and I—I shall have a hundred and fifty thousand francs a year, and shall be free to look for love! So we shall all be happy! It is understood of course that the hundred and fifty thousand will be mine to do with as I please?”

“But certainly!” said the countess, looking at her curiously. “There are no restrictions.”

“And you, Madame la Comtesse, what do you get? A new title? To serve one’s country, yes, that is very noble; men have died for their country; but for a woman it is not enough!”

“Ah,” said the countess, sombrely, “that is my secret! Perhaps you will know some day!”

Madame Ghita looked at her for a moment with that clear and penetrating gaze; then she pushed back her chair.

“Our business is arranged, then,” she said, “and I must be going. I have a niece to look after. I promised her that I would not be long. Madame, I have to thank you for a most delightful luncheon.”

“I also,” began Selden, but the countess stopped him.

“If you will remain for a moment,” she said.

Madame Ghita flashed an ironic glance into Selden’s face. What she saw there seemed to amuse her.

“Au revoir, alors,” she said, and in a moment she was gone.

“So you see I was right,” commented the countess, as the door closed behind her.

“Yes,” agreed Selden, a wry smile upon his lips. “Yes; she is, as you said, a sensible woman!”

“Every woman in her position has to be sensible,” the countess pointed out. “She may treat herself to nerves occasionally, but she must never lose her head. And she is right—absolutely right!”

“Oh, of course she is right!” agreed Selden, a little bitterly. “But sometimes it is better to be wrong—gloriously wrong!”

“Do not misjudge her,” said the countess quickly.“She may not be at all sensible in the way you think. It was not because of the money she accepted—I am sure of it. I doubt if she will even use it for herself—you heard her stipulate that she might use it as she pleased.”

“Yes,” said Selden; “but that would be very—ah—unusual.”

“She is an unusual woman. And if she ever loves a man—really loves him—that man will be very fortunate; do you not think so?”

“Undoubtedly,” agreed Selden, trying to speak lightly. “I only hope she finds the right one!”

“So do I,” said the countess. “I am sure she will!” she added, with a little smile.

She was silent for a moment, looking at Selden’s troubled face, as though hesitating whether or not to say something more.

“At least,” she went on, at last, “your compunctions in that direction are at an end?”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“I go to Nice this afternoon, as you know, to see Miss Davis. Then my work will be finished.”

“You are going away?”

“Yes; I shall not stay here. But I shall tell you to-night how my mission succeeded.”

“To-night?”

“Have you forgotten,” she asked, with a smile, “that you invited me to dinner?”

“Pardon me!” he said, confused. So much had happened since that invitation was given! “Of course!”

“At Ciro’s,” she went on.

“Yes, at Ciro’s,” he assented.

There was an ironic light in her eyes as she looked at him.

“I can see you are not very keen for it,” she said; “but I have a very special reason for wishing to dine with you at Ciro’s to-night. So you will be good and take me.”

“Why, of course I’ll take you,” he said, and registered a mental vow to give her the best dinner Ciro’s could produce. “I shall be proud to take you!”

“You are very nice, you know,” she said, her head a little on one side. “Sometimes I almost regret that you do not care for me—but no, it is better as it is! I am going to see that you are rewarded. Now do not ask any questions!”

“Very well,” said Selden. “I will call for you at nine,” and he took his leave.

Once in his room, he got into robe and slippers, filled his pipe and threw himself on the chaise-longue. He must reason this thing out—he must find the key to what was in the minds of these two very subtle women.

Why had the countess looked at him so strangely? What was the reward she planned for him?

And what had Madame Ghita meant by “friend”? What was it she had said?

“I thought you were Jeneski’s friend.”

Why had that long white hand trembled so?

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