The Temptress

The first few hands were uninteresting. Adolphe had arrived presumably from Paris only a few days previously, and had been introduced by Valérie as a friend of the family. As he entered heartily into every proposal for enjoyment, Hugh considered him a genial and pleasant companion. Overflowing with mirth and good spirits, he proved a much appreciated addition to the party.

At first the stakes were not high, and the fortune of the players were about equally divided. Hugh’s pile of coin increased now and then, only to diminish again, but never falling short of its original size.

After a time the count increased his stake, twenty louis being put upon the game. Neither player, however, could make the fatal abbattage, and Hugh continued to hold winning hands, and rake the coins into the bank.

The game was growing interesting, and so intensely were the thoughts of the players riveted upon it that time passed unheeded. Two o’clock had struck, still the dealing and hazarding went on, while Nanette stood by quietly watching, and now and then replenishing the glasses of the men.

At length Hugh’s good fortune forsook him, and a long run on the bank was made. For five hands his cards were useless, and each time he was compelled to pay, the result being that not a louis remained out of the pile of half an hour before.

Valérie expressed her regret at her lover’s misfortune, and after some discussion it was decided to make a fresh bank, Hugh, as before, to be banker.

In order to obtain the necessary money he left the room, Valérie uttering some words of encouragement as he did so.

A few minutes later he returned with several crisp English notes in his hand. Having converted two of them into louis, play was resumed. Again the fates were against him. He was flushed with excitement, and played carelessly. A number of successive rounds he lost to Adolphe, whose pile of coin as rapidly increased as his diminished, while much good-humoured chaff was levelled at him by his companions.

Then, for the first time, he recognised the amount of his loss, and determined, if possible, to recoup himself.

Flinging his two remaining notes – each of the value of one hundred pounds – upon the table, he remarked rather bitterly —

“It seems I’ve been overtaken by a run of infernal bad luck. Will any one ‘play’ me for the bank?”

“As you please,” assented the count.

“Ma foi! you’ve played pluckily, although it’s been a losing game.”

“It’s really too bad,” declared Valérie pouting. “But I expect when Hugh has his revenge he will ruin us all.”

“Scarcely,” replied Trethowen, raising his glass to his lips.

“How much is in the bank?” asked Adolphe unconcernedly, as the cards were being dealt.

“Five thousand francs,” replied Hugh, after a moment’s calculation.

“Very well, I’ll ‘play’ you,” the young man said calmly.

The announcement caused each of the quartette the most intense excitement, for it meant that Pierre had backed that amount against the banker’s stake upon the result of his tableau.

Every one was silent. Hugh scarcely breathed. He dealt the cards, and each snatched them up.

It was an exciting moment for all concerned, and there was a dead silence.

The adventuress exchanged glances with the count. Adolphe remained perfectly cool as he turned the faces of the cards upwards, a five and a four of diamonds, making a “natural” against which Hugh’s cards were useless.

With a grim smile Hugh pushed the two notes and some gold over to his adversary, and, rising from the table, exclaimed —

“I think, after all, I’d better have remained a punter than aspired to be a banker.”

“Never mind,” said Valérie encouragingly, as she gathered up her winnings, “your good luck will return to-morrow.”

“I shall ruin myself if I go on long at this rate,” he replied. “I shall have to send to London to-morrow for a fresh supply, otherwise I shall be hard up.”

“Not much fear of that,” she said chaffingly. “But it’s four o’clock, so we had better retire.”

He took her hand and wished her bon soir, she afterwards leaving with Nanette, while the men also sought their respective rooms.

It was already daylight, and Hugh did not attempt to sleep, but, flinging himself upon a couch, indulged in calm reflections. His loss did not trouble him, for he could afford it, but the subject of his contemplation was a conversation he intended having on the morrow with the woman who had fascinated him.

Had he witnessed the scene at that moment in Valérie’s sitting-room, the scales would have fallen from his eyes. On n’est jamais si heureux, ni si malheureux qu’on se l’imagine.

When the two men left him, they went straight to her.

“Well, how did I manage it?” asked Pierre, with a crafty twinkle in his eye, when the door had closed.

“Capitally!” she cried, with almost childish glee. “He doesn’t suspect in the least.”

Both men disgorged their winnings, and placed the money upon the table in the centre of the room.

It amounted to nearly eight thousand francs.

Selecting two four-hundred franc notes, she gave one to each of them as their share of the spoil, and, sweeping the remainder into a bag, locked it up.

“Pierre’s idea was excellent,” remarked Victor. “We wanted the money badly, and although the sum isn’t very large, the manoeuvre is one that might be worth repeating, eh?”

“That’s just it. The thing is so simple. I kept the winning hand concealed until the stake was large enough, then I played it.”

“You’re even smarter with the cards than I anticipated. Père Amiot didn’t teach you to manipulate for nothing; you’ve been our salvation,” observed Valérie.

“For your sake, mademoiselle, no task is too difficult,” he said, with mock gallantry, bowing.

“A little of that sort of talk is quite sufficient,” she answered, with a laugh.

The subject dropped, and for a few minutes they held a serious consultation, after which the two men wished her good-night, and departed stealthily along the corridor.

Nanette entered, and her mistress sank into a chair, reflecting silently, while she deftly arranged her hair for the night.

Chapter Nineteen

A Strange Compact

The morning was oppressive and sultry. Valérie, coming from her room, thrust open the window of the sitting-room, with an impatient exclamation, and sat with her elbows upon the window ledge inhaling what little air there was to be had. She lolled there, looking down upon the quaint street in an abstracted mood, for the men had gone for their matutinal walk after the glass or two of water at the Pouhon.

She was glad to be alone. To herself sometimes she appeared extraordinary and of an exceptional disposition, of the temperament of animals that are rendered faithful by brutal treatment. There were days on which she no longer knew herself, and on which she asked herself whether she were really the same woman. In reviewing all the baseness to which she had been bent, she could not believe that it was she who had undergone it all. She strove to imagine a degree of degradation to which her nature would refuse to descend.

As she sat, silent and thoughtful, the door opened softly, and a tall, dark, well-dressed man entered noiselessly. He was good-looking, with a carriage that was unmistakably military, and a carefully trained moustache. Glancing quickly round with eyes that had a rather fierce look in them, he walked over to where mademoiselle sat, and halted behind her chair.

“So I’ve found you at last, madame,” he exclaimed harshly in English, placing a heavy hand upon her shoulder.

The unexpected voice startled her.