the forest with you, your mother, and your sister Julie were delightful days – days never to return, alas! And so you are really married! Well, you must tell me all about it later. Let’s lunch together at the London House.” Then he added reflectively, “Well, this really is a discovery – my little Gabrielle actually married! I had no idea of it.”
She laughed, blushing again.
“No; I don’t suppose you had. I was very, very foolish to take off my glove, yet if I had kept up the deception any longer I might perhaps have compromised myself.”
“Was it not – well, a little risky of you to go to Beaulieu with me yesterday?”
“Yes. I was foolish – very foolish, Bindo. I ought not to have met you to-day. I ought to have told you the truth from the very first.”
“Not at all. Even if your husband is away, there is surely no reason why you should not speak to an old friend like myself, is there?”
“Yes; I’m known in Nice, as you are well aware.”
“Known as the prettiest woman who comes on the Riviera,” he declared, taking her hand and examining the wedding ring and the fine circle of diamonds above it. Bindo di Ferraris was an expert in gems.
“Don’t be a flatterer,” she protested, with a light laugh. “You’ve said that, you know, hundreds of times before.”
“I’ve said only what’s the truth, and I’m sure Ewart will bear me out.”
“I do, most certainly. Madame is most charming,” I asserted; and it was undoubtedly my honest opinion. I was, however, disappointed equally with the Count to discover that my dainty divinity in black was married. She was certainly not more than nineteen, and had none of the self-possessed air of the matron about her.
Twice during that conversation I had risen to go, but the Count bade me stay, saying with a laugh —
“There is nothing in this that you may not hear. Madame has deceived us both.”
He treated the situation as a huge joke, yet I detected that the deception had annoyed him. Had the plans he had laid been upset by this unexpected discovery of the marriage? From his demeanour of suppressed chagrin I felt sure they had been.
Suddenly he glanced at his watch, and then taking from his pocket an envelope containing some small square hard object, about two inches long by one inch broad, he said —
“Go to the station and meet the twelve-fifteen from Beaulieu to Cannes. You’ll find Sir Charles Blythe in the train. Give him this from me, and say that I’ll meet him at the Beau Site at Cannes at four o’clock. Have the car ready at two. I’ll come to the garage. You haven’t much time to spare, so take a cab.”
I rose, raised my hat to the dark-eyed little woman, who bowed gracefully and then, mounting into a fiacre, drove rapidly up the Avenue de la Gare.
The situation was decidedly interesting. My ideal of that sunny morning had been shattered. Gabrielle of the luminous eyes was already a wife.
I met the train, and discovered Sir Charles looking out for me. I handed him the packet, and gave him the Count’s message. I noticed that he had some light luggage with him, and presumed that he was moving from Beaulieu to Cannes – to the tea-and-tennis Beau Site.
Then, when the train had moved off, I wandered across to a small restaurant opposite the station, and lunched alone, thinking and wondering about the dainty little girl-wife who had so completely fascinated me.
That she was still in love with Bindo was quite clear, yet he, on his part, was distinctly annoyed at being deceived.
At two o’clock, almost punctually, he entered the garage, flung his hat into the car, put on his cap, goggles, and motor-coat, and without a word I drew the forty “Napier” out into the road.
“To Cannes – quick!” he snapped. “Round to the right into the Rue Magnan, then straight along. You saw Blythe?”
“Yes; I gave him the packet and the message.”
“Good! then we haven’t any time to lose. Get a move on her whenever you can.”
On we flew, as fast as the sharp corners would allow, until presently we slipped down the long hill into Cannes, and passing through the town, pulled up at the Beau Site, where we found Sir Charles awaiting us.
The latter had changed his clothes, and was now in a smart blue serge suit, and was idly smoking a cigar as we swept round to the entrance.
The two men met enthusiastically, some words were exchanged in an undertone, and both burst out laughing – a laugh of triumph. Was it at the expense of poor little Gabrielle?
I was left outside to mind the car, and waited for fully an hour and a half. The wind blew bitterly cold at sundown, as it always does on the Riviera in December, and I was glad of my big fur coat.
Whatever was the subject of discussion it was evidently a weighty one. Both men had gone to Blythe’s room and were closeted there.
A little after five Blythe came out, hailed a cab, and drove away into the town; while the Count, whose appearance was so entirely changed that I scarcely knew him, sauntered slowly down the hall after his friend. Blythe had evidently brought him some fresh clothes from Monte Carlo, and he had used his room as a dressing-room. He looked very much older, and the dark-brown suit he now wore was out of shape and ill-fitting. His hair showed grey over the ears, and he wore gold spectacles.
Instantly I saw that the adventurous scheme was still in progress, so I descended and lit the big head-lights. About a dozen idlers were in the vicinity of the car, and in sight of them all, he struggled into his big motor-coat, and entering, gave me orders to drive into the centre of the town. Then, after we had got clear of the hotel, he said —
“Stop at the station; we have to pick up Blythe.”
Directed by him, we were soon at the spot where Sir Charles awaited us.
“I’ve got it!” he exclaimed in a low voice as he took out a big coat, motor-cap, and goggles. “Quick work, wasn’t it?”
“Excellent!” declared the Count, and then, bending to me, he added, “Round there to the left. The high road is a little farther on – to Marseilles!”
“To Marseilles?” I echoed, surprised that we were going so far as a hundred odd miles, but at that moment I saw the wide highway and turned into it, and with our big search-lights throwing a white radiance on the road, I set the car westward through St. Raphael and Les Arcs. It commenced to rain, with a biting wind, and turned out a very disagreeable night; but, urged on by both men, I went forward at as quick a pace as I dared go on that road, over which I had never before travelled.
At Toulon we pulled up for a drink – for by that time we were all three chilled to the bone, notwithstanding our heavy leather-lined coats. Then we set out again for Marseilles, which we reached just after one o’clock in the morning, drawing up at the Louvre et Paix, which every visitor to the capital of Southern France knows so well. Here we had a good hearty meal of cold meat and bock. Prior, however, to entering Marseilles, we had halted, changed our identification-plate, and made certain alterations, in order more thoroughly to disguise the car.
After supper we all got in again, and Bindo directed me up and down several long streets until we were once more in the suburbs.
