CHAPTER XXXIIIt is a week later. Lady Etwynde and her husband have left Paris and gone back to the æsthetic mansion in Kensington. They have decided on living there still. To Lady Etwynde it is endeared by many memories and associations, and her husband is content with whatever pleases her. Lady Jean is still in the gay city, and so is Keith Athelstone."How the affair drags!" murmurs the Lady Jean to herself one evening as she is making her toilette. "Karolyski is persevering, I can see; but Keith—he is quite too stupid. I must try and hasten thedénouement. Besides, Frank comes back in a few days, and I don't wanthimto suspect. Could I bring matters to an issue to-night, I wonder?"She looks at herself in the glass, and a flush of triumph rises to her cheek. She looks supremely handsome in a dress of black satin, with judicious touches of white lace and white flowers; and as she sweeps into her rooms and sees Keith's involuntary glance of admiration, she feels a little thrill of triumph.As the evening goes on, as her guests assemble, she contrives that Keith Athelstone should be always by her side, and though the scowling face of Count Karolyski is frequently turned towards her, she is by no means intimidated. He and Keith are mutually antagonistic to each other, and to-night the Count's manner is almost insulting.Again, the question of play is mooted, and again he taunts Keith with his care of his dollars. The evening is very warm, and the young fellow has drunk more wine than he usually does, and Lady Jean has taken care that it is wine both strong and exciting.At the Count's veiled sneers he loses his temper—never a very forbearing one—and, forgetful of promises and resolutions, sits down at the table.The stakes grow higher; he is winning fast. Again and again he is victor and again and again does the money of the Count flow into his keeping. Lady Jean comes near him and leans against his chair. Her perfumed hair almost sweeps his cheek. As he glances up he meets all the dark intensity and lustre of her eyes."You are wonderfully fortunate in—everything," she says, smiling; and the Count glances up and crushes back an oath between his set teeth. Then quite suddenly, and with the most serene innocence, Lady Jean stoops and picks up a card by Keith's side. "You have dropped this," she says, and lays it on the table."The ace of spades—you have already played that, monsieur!" says Count Karolyski."It cannot be mine, then," says Keith quietly.The Count throws his cards contemptuously on the table."Monsieur's luck may be wonderful, but with double aces in his hand it is not so remarkable after all!"Keith starts up—his hot young blood aflame: "What do you mean—do you dare insinuate——"The Count's laugh falls across the horrified silence of the guests as they draw near."Insinuate? No, monsieur—it is for you to explain, I think.""I have nothing to explain," says Keith proudly. "There is no proof that that card belonged to me. If you doubt my word, my honour, I am perfectly willing to answer for both.""Hush! hush! what are you saying," cries Lady Jean, horrified. "Of course it is a mistake. Mr. Athelstone, pray be calm."Calm! The hot blood is rushing through Keith's veins—his eyes have their worst and most passionate light. "Your friend has thought fit to insult me, madame," he says. "I demand an apology or—satisfaction.""Pardieu, monsieur!" laughs the Count, in his most insulting manner. "I am sorry I cannot answer your first demand; as to the other—I am at your service."There is an instant's silence. Women with blanched faces, men with surprise and embarrassment, look on these two who face each other—on the tall, slight figure with its dauntless grace of bearing, on the blue eyes flaming with anger and defiance; and then on the cruel, smiling lips, and calm, dark face of the Hungarian.Count Karolyski turns, says a few words to a man near by, and then, with a bow, leaves the room.Keith turns to Lady Jean. "I regret that such a scene should have happened in your house," he says, calming his voice by a violent effort. "You will excuse my withdrawing now, madam?" She has grown very pale. As he quits the salon she follows him."Mr. Athelstone, do not proceed to extremities. The Count is a deadly shot. He has fought more duels than I could tell you—and you——""Do you fancy I am afraid?" interrupts Keith, turning his flashing eyes upon her face. "Or that I value my life so much, I would try to save it even for less cause? No; let him do his worst. An insult like that——""It was shameful, I know," says Lady Jean. "But still, you might leave Paris—you might——""For what do you take me?" interrupts Keith passionately. "Do you think I am a coward?""No; oh, no," she murmurs. "Only you are so young, and life is all before you. Why should you forfeit love, happiness, all that may be in store, just for a fancied insult that has questioned your honour?"Keith looks at her searchingly. The old vague distrust of this woman is at work within his heart. He answers her very coldly."Itismy honour I avenge. I do not fancy even you, as a woman, could counsel the acceptance of such an insult as your friend has thought fit to put upon me." And with a bow he leaves her presence.
It is a week later. Lady Etwynde and her husband have left Paris and gone back to the æsthetic mansion in Kensington. They have decided on living there still. To Lady Etwynde it is endeared by many memories and associations, and her husband is content with whatever pleases her. Lady Jean is still in the gay city, and so is Keith Athelstone.
"How the affair drags!" murmurs the Lady Jean to herself one evening as she is making her toilette. "Karolyski is persevering, I can see; but Keith—he is quite too stupid. I must try and hasten thedénouement. Besides, Frank comes back in a few days, and I don't wanthimto suspect. Could I bring matters to an issue to-night, I wonder?"
She looks at herself in the glass, and a flush of triumph rises to her cheek. She looks supremely handsome in a dress of black satin, with judicious touches of white lace and white flowers; and as she sweeps into her rooms and sees Keith's involuntary glance of admiration, she feels a little thrill of triumph.
As the evening goes on, as her guests assemble, she contrives that Keith Athelstone should be always by her side, and though the scowling face of Count Karolyski is frequently turned towards her, she is by no means intimidated. He and Keith are mutually antagonistic to each other, and to-night the Count's manner is almost insulting.
Again, the question of play is mooted, and again he taunts Keith with his care of his dollars. The evening is very warm, and the young fellow has drunk more wine than he usually does, and Lady Jean has taken care that it is wine both strong and exciting.
At the Count's veiled sneers he loses his temper—never a very forbearing one—and, forgetful of promises and resolutions, sits down at the table.
The stakes grow higher; he is winning fast. Again and again he is victor and again and again does the money of the Count flow into his keeping. Lady Jean comes near him and leans against his chair. Her perfumed hair almost sweeps his cheek. As he glances up he meets all the dark intensity and lustre of her eyes.
"You are wonderfully fortunate in—everything," she says, smiling; and the Count glances up and crushes back an oath between his set teeth. Then quite suddenly, and with the most serene innocence, Lady Jean stoops and picks up a card by Keith's side. "You have dropped this," she says, and lays it on the table.
"The ace of spades—you have already played that, monsieur!" says Count Karolyski.
"It cannot be mine, then," says Keith quietly.
The Count throws his cards contemptuously on the table.
"Monsieur's luck may be wonderful, but with double aces in his hand it is not so remarkable after all!"
Keith starts up—his hot young blood aflame: "What do you mean—do you dare insinuate——"
The Count's laugh falls across the horrified silence of the guests as they draw near.
"Insinuate? No, monsieur—it is for you to explain, I think."
"I have nothing to explain," says Keith proudly. "There is no proof that that card belonged to me. If you doubt my word, my honour, I am perfectly willing to answer for both."
"Hush! hush! what are you saying," cries Lady Jean, horrified. "Of course it is a mistake. Mr. Athelstone, pray be calm."
Calm! The hot blood is rushing through Keith's veins—his eyes have their worst and most passionate light. "Your friend has thought fit to insult me, madame," he says. "I demand an apology or—satisfaction."
"Pardieu, monsieur!" laughs the Count, in his most insulting manner. "I am sorry I cannot answer your first demand; as to the other—I am at your service."
There is an instant's silence. Women with blanched faces, men with surprise and embarrassment, look on these two who face each other—on the tall, slight figure with its dauntless grace of bearing, on the blue eyes flaming with anger and defiance; and then on the cruel, smiling lips, and calm, dark face of the Hungarian.
Count Karolyski turns, says a few words to a man near by, and then, with a bow, leaves the room.
Keith turns to Lady Jean. "I regret that such a scene should have happened in your house," he says, calming his voice by a violent effort. "You will excuse my withdrawing now, madam?" She has grown very pale. As he quits the salon she follows him.
"Mr. Athelstone, do not proceed to extremities. The Count is a deadly shot. He has fought more duels than I could tell you—and you——"
"Do you fancy I am afraid?" interrupts Keith, turning his flashing eyes upon her face. "Or that I value my life so much, I would try to save it even for less cause? No; let him do his worst. An insult like that——"
"It was shameful, I know," says Lady Jean. "But still, you might leave Paris—you might——"
"For what do you take me?" interrupts Keith passionately. "Do you think I am a coward?"
"No; oh, no," she murmurs. "Only you are so young, and life is all before you. Why should you forfeit love, happiness, all that may be in store, just for a fancied insult that has questioned your honour?"
Keith looks at her searchingly. The old vague distrust of this woman is at work within his heart. He answers her very coldly.
"Itismy honour I avenge. I do not fancy even you, as a woman, could counsel the acceptance of such an insult as your friend has thought fit to put upon me." And with a bow he leaves her presence.