If Sinners Entice Thee

Strolling on through the well-dressed throng they presently met the Captain, spruce in a suit of dark grey with soft hat and brown boots, walking slowly, in conversation with a portly Frenchman who had been the Prince’s guest on the previous evening. Saluting, Zertho and his fair companion passed on and continuing their walk strolled leisurely back to the Villa Chevrier.

“Why are you so thoughtful?” her companion asked presently in French, having noticed her wonderful grey eyes fixed upon the calm sunlit sea.

“It is woman’s privilege to think,” she replied, laughing as she turned to him with her clear eyes expressive of the soul that lay behind. “I was reflecting upon the difference between our life two years ago and what it is to-day.”

“Yes, slightly better, isn’t it? Well, it is luck – always luck,” he answered. “Your father is going over to Monte Carlo to-morrow, and I hope that Fortune may be kind also to him. He has waited long enough for a change of luck.”

Liane regarded him steadily for an instant, then said reproachfully, —

“It is you who have persuaded him. Why have you done this, when you know full well that half an hour at roulette will bring back upon him the mania for play, the fatal recklessness that must be his ruin and mine? This is surely not the action of a friend.”

“Ah! forgive me,” he exclaimed, quickly. “I had no idea that my suggestion to drive you both over there to-morrow would displease you.

“I’ll make an excuse to him, and we will not go,” he added, deferentially.

She was not a little surprised that he should thus alter his plans in conformity to her wish, nevertheless his decision satisfied her. She knew that her father had but little money, and certainly he had none to risk. Little did she dream that the cost of her rich, perfectly-fitting dresses, which had been so admired of late upon the Promenade and in the Casino, had been defrayed by her whilom friend, and that every sou her father was spending came also from his pocket. She was in ignorance of the strange, inviolable secret which existed between the two men; that secret, the price of which was her own self.

Too much of life had she seen to be dazzled by the gay, brilliant set of which she had found herself a centre, nevertheless, time after time she reflected, when alone, that she was neglecting George sadly; she had an instinctive fear that her letters to him were devoid of any warmth of affection, yet somehow she could not prevent it. Being thrown so much into Zertho’s society he frequently asked her advice, and she thus unconsciously became interested in the success of his fêtes.

She and her father spent the day at the Villa, as usual, and after dinner drove down to the Place Massena to witness one of the great annual events of Nice, the arrival of King Carnival Long before they drove down, the town was already agog, for Carnival is in the blood of the Southerners. The illuminations were unanimously voted worthy of Nice. From their stands on the balcony of the Casino they could see that from end to end the broad Avenue de la Gare was ablaze with red and white lights, festoons of small lamps being connected at intervals with large red stars of hanging lamps. The Place Massena was lighted up with gas-jets in white, blue, and green globes, forming arabesques; the Casino was encircled with lines of gas-jets, and the façade of the immense tribune opposite a brilliant blaze of colour.

Liane stood up and surveyed the scene. The immense square was thronged, the crowd being kept back by infantry. After some waiting the sounds of noisy music, the blasts of many horns, and the dancing lights of hundreds of torches at last heralded the approach of the Monarch of Mirth. Mounted gendarmes opened the way; then came the trumpeters of the 6th Chasseurs, followed by the heralds of Nice in costumes embroidered with the arms of the town. The colours of the Carnival were red and rose, and the shops around were gay with dominoes of those hues.

Madame Carnival was the first gigantic figure to appear amid the glare of the great braziers of crimson fire. Seated on what might be termed a gilt throne, and wearing a white frilled cap, a silk shawl, and clean apron, she looked altogether very smart, gracefully wielding a fan, and occasionally winking her enormous eyes. In front of the car was her six-months-old baby, held by two giant hands, while in the rear, in a big basket, was the remainder of her family, a turbulent crowd of youngsters in fancy garb. Following another regiment of musicians and torch-bearers came the lord and master, King Carnival, represented as a peasant in his best white hat with tricolour rosette, astride a turkey-cock, which ever and anon moved its head and spread its tail.

Among the other cars which followed was one representing a café-concert; a chimpanzee which moved its head and swallowed smaller monkeys; a car of animated fans; and “a charmer and her fools” represented by a beauty who sat upon a throne, and by pulling a string set dancing her crowd of foppish admirers. The groupes à pied, too, were amusing and numerous, one entitled “Dragging the Devil by the Tail,” representing Satan with a tail of enormous length, at which all who were hard up were pulling vigorously. There were polkas of Hammers, Bakers, Felt hats, and walking alarum clocks, as well as a varying and amusing panorama of single maskers. Among these latter were represented a wine-dealer, who had closed his shop in order “to baptise his wines;” Cupid bandaging a lover’s eyes; Love stopping a fair cyclist and asking whether he had been forgotten; “Hurrah!” who had shouted so much that his mouth had become an enormous size, and a drunkard stopping at a fountain believing the drinking-cup to be a telephone transmitter!

Fully two hours the procession occupied in passing and re-passing, and of the gay party who had met the Prince at his invitation, Liane was perhaps the most vivacious. With a sable cape about her shoulders she sat next him, with her father on her left, laughing and criticising the groups, the spirit of Carnival having already entered her Southern blood, as it had that of the merry, light-hearted Niçois themselves.

At last she drove home with her father and the Prince, while the monarch of cap and bells was placed in the handsome pavilion erected for him, there to preside over the corsos, vegliones, and the battles of flowers and confetti which for twelve days, until his immolation on Mardi-Gras, would render Nice a town gone mad with frolic.

The Promenade was bright as day beneath the full moon, the feathery palms waved lazily in the breeze, and the dark waves broke with musical monotony upon the pebbly beach. They had alighted at the gate of the pension where the Captain had taken up his quarters, when the Prince suggested to Liane that they should go for a stroll, as it was still early. To this she assented, and the Captain went indoors and sat alone, silent and wondering, while they crossed the deserted esplanade together and walked in the moonlight by the shore.

“So you have enjoyed yourself to-night, ma petite?” Zertho said, after they had been chatting some time.

“Immensely,” she answered. “Carnival is not fresh to me, but it is always amusing. Every Niçois enjoys it so thoroughly. I love these gay, happy, contented people who are still Italian although French. They are so different from the English.”

“You hated them once, I remember,” he observed, with a smile, pausing to light a cigarette.

“Ah! that was in the evil days. One’s enjoyment is always gauged by one’s pocket.”

“Then according to that theory I ought to have a larger measure of this world’s pleasures than the majority of people – eh?”

“You have.”

“Ah, no, Liane,” he sighed, becoming suddenly grave. “True, I have wealth, a house in Brussels, an estate in Luxembourg, a yacht in yonder port, and a villa here upon this promenade, yet there is one thing I lack to render my happiness complete.”

“What’s that?” she asked, rather surprised at the unusual tone of sadness in his voice. Her smiling lips suddenly quivered with a momentary dread – a dread of something she could not quite define.

He had paused at one of the seats at the end of the plage, and with a alight courteous wave of the hand invited her to sit. Slowly she did as she was bid, and awaited his reply.

“I have not yet found any woman to sufficiently care for me,” he answered at last, in a quiet impressive tone.

“You will surely have no difficulty,” she said with a strange ring in her voice. She had not suspected that he possessed a grain of sentiment, for long ago she had noticed that he was entirely unimpressionable where the charms of women were concerned.

His manner suddenly changed. He sank into the seat beside her, saying, —

“There is something, Liane, I want to say to you I’ve said it so often to myself that I feel as if you must know it.” She sat quite still. He had grasped her small hand in his, and she let him keep it, questioning his face with a bewildered gaze. “You must know – you must have guessed – ”

She turned pale, but outwardly quelled the panic that sent the blood to her heart. “I must tell you the truth now – I love you.”

With a sudden movement she freed her hand and drew away from him.

“Me!” she gasped. Whatever potential complicity had lurked in her heart, his words brought her only immeasurable dismay.

He bent towards her again. “Yes, you!”

She felt his hot breath upon her cheek, and put up her hand with imploring gesture. He looked at her with almost frenzied admiration, as if it were only with fierce resolve that he restrained himself from seizing her in his arms and closing her mouth with burning kisses. His whole frame quivered in the fury of repressed excitement, insomuch that she shrank from him with involuntary terror.

“Can’t you tell me what it is that makes me repugnant to you?” he asked quickly.

“You are not repugnant at all,” she faltered hoarsely. “You are not repugnant, only – I am indifferent.”

“You mean that you don’t care about me one way or the other.”

She shut her lips tight. Hers was not a nature so passionate as that of most Southerns, but a loving one; feeling with her was not a single simple emotion, but a complicated one of many impulses – of self-diffidences, of deep, strange aspirations that she herself could scarcely understand – a woman’s pride, the delight of companionship and sympathy and of the guidance of a stronger will; a longing for better things. All these things were there. But beside them were thoughts of the man she had vowed she loved, the man who was ruined and who could not for years hope to make her his wife. She looked at the glittering moonlit sea, with the light steadily burning in the far distance at Antibes, but no answer escaped her lips. The silence of night was complete save for the rhythmic swish of the waves at their feet.

At last, after a long pause, her words came again, shudderingly, “Oh, what have you done?”

“By Heaven!” he said, with a vague smile, “I don’t know. I hope no harm.”

“Oh, don’t laugh!” she cried, laughing hysterically herself. “Unless you want me to think you the greatest wretch in the world.”

“I?” he responded. “What do you mean?”

“You know you are fooling me,” she answered reproachfully. “You cannot put your hand on your heart and swear that you actually love me.”

A quick look of displeasure crossed his face, but his back was towards the moon and she did not notice it.

“Yes – yes, I can – I will,” he answered. “You must have known it, Liane. I’ve been abrupt, I know, and I’ve startled you, but if you love me you must attribute that to my loving you so long before I have spoken.”

Her troubled breast heaved and fell beneath her rich fur. She gazed at him with parted lips.

“It is a question from me to you,” he went on, “the question of my life.”

“No, don’t think so,” she protested, “please, don’t ask it.”

“Then don’t answer it, Liane. Wait – let me wait. Ask yourself – ”

“I know my own mind already,” she said slowly, with earnestness; then perceiving, as suddenly as she had all the rest, how considered her assertion might appear, she went on, still with the quietness of clear-seeing and truth-telling: “things come clear in an instant. This does, that I could not have thought of. I am already betrothed to another; that is why I cannot accept.”

“You can’t expect me to be satisfied with that,” he answered. “I, who know myself, and who see you as you do not see yourself. It is I who ask: who want to take a great gift. I am not offering myself,” he went on rapidly. “I am beseeching yourself – of you.”

“I have not myself to give,” she said calmly.

“You mean you love someone else,” he said, with a hardness about the corners of his mouth.

“Yes,” and the long eyelashes swept downward as she answered.

But Zertho paid no attention to her reply. “During the years I have known you, Liane,” he went on, “the thought of you has been as a safeguard against my total disbelief in the possibility of woman’s fidelity. I knew then that I revered you with my better self all the while – that, young as you were, I believed in you. I believe in you now. Be my wife, and from this instant I will devote all the love in me – and I have more than you think – to you alone.”

“Prince Zertho,” she said, in honest distress, “I beg you won’t go on! I respect your devotion and your kindness, and I don’t want to inflict any hurt upon you; but oh! indeed, you must not ask this.”

“Very well,” he said sadly, rising to his feet. “Let it all be. I will not despair. You know now that I love you, and ere long I shall ask you again as I have asked. Defer your answer until then.”

“Let us go back,” she urged, shivering as she rose. “The wind has grown cold;” and in silence they together retraced their steps along the deserted Promenade.

An hour later, when Liane had gone to her room, the Captain, at Zertho’s request, walked along to the Villa Chevrier, and found his friend awaiting him in the handsome salon.

When the servant closed the door the Prince was the first to speak.

“To-night I have asked Liane to become my wife,” he said harshly, standing with his hands in his pockets.

“Well?”

“She refuses.”

“As I expected,” answered her father coldly.

“As you wish, you mean,” retorted Zertho.

“I have already explained my views,” the other answered, in a deep strained voice.

“From her attitude it is evident that you have not spoken to her, as we arranged,” said the other angrily.

“I have said nothing.”

“Well, you know me sufficiently well, Brooker, to be aware that when I set my heart upon doing a thing I will accomplish it at all cost,” the Prince, exclaimed. “I’m no longer an outsider, remember, I cannot really understand your disinclination to allow Liane to become Princess d’Auzac. Surely you must see that it would be distinctly to your own advantage. She would take care that you’d never be hard up for a few hundreds, you know.”

“She does not love you, Zertho.”

“Love be hanged!” cried the other, fiercely impatient. “In a week I shall repeat my proposal to her: if she does not accept, well – ”

“Well?” echoed Brooker, paler than before, the hand holding the cigar trembling, for he was feigning a coolness which he was unable to preserve.

For a moment the Prince paused then crossing to the escritoire, which stood in the window, took therefrom a folded newspaper, old and tattered, together with several other papers folded together lengthwise. Recrossing to where Brooker stood, he held them up to his gaze, with a sinister smile upon his lips, and a look full of menace.

“No! no!” cried the Captain, glaring at the innocent-looking papers, and drawing back with a gesture of repulsion.

“Very well,” Zertho answered, with nonchalance. “Strange though it may appear, your only chance of safety is in becoming my father-in-law. It will be easy enough for you to persuade Liane to become my wife, and I am ready and eager to remain your friend. But if your prejudices are so very intense and indiscreet, well – you know the rest.”

The two men who had been fellow-adventurers faced each other. In the countenance of one was confidence, in the other abject fear.

“I never expected this of you, Zertho,” the Captain said reproachfully, regarding him with eyes in which flashed the fire of anger. “You apparently heed nothing of my feelings as her father. You know my past; you know that Liane brings into my life its only ray of brightness.”

“We are no longer partners,” the other answered harshly, with a strangely determined expression upon his dark countenance. “You are playing against me now, therefore I am your opponent. You’ve thought fit to deal the cards, it’s true,” he added, with a short derisive laugh; “but I think you’ll have to admit that I hold all the trumps.”

Chapter Nine

The Way of Transgressors

One thought alone possessed Liane. Zertho loved her.

Next morning when the maid brought her coffee, she rose, and opening the sun-shutters, stood at the window gazing upon the broad expanse of bright blue sea. The words the Prince had uttered all came back to her. She recollected how he had pressed her hand, and declared that she was his ideal of what a woman should be; how, not satisfied with her refusal, he had promised to repeat his question. Should she accept? No, she distrusted him as much as she had ever done.

While thus plunged in deep reflection, her clear eyes fixed upon the distant horizon where ships were passing, endeavouring to convince herself that marriage with Zertho was impossible because she could never love him, a light tap was heard upon the door, and the girl re-entered, bearing a letter.

By its blue English stamp, she knew instinctively it was from George.

Slowly she tore open the envelope and read its contents. Then, with a sudden movement, she cast herself upon her bed, burying her face in the lace-edged pillow, and bursting into a torrent of passionate tears. She hated Zertho, and still loved George.

Meanwhile, her father had risen, and gone out for an early turn along the Promenade. He let himself out at the rear into the Rue de France, in order not to pass the Villa Chevrier, and after strolling for some time about the town, he reached the sea again walking alone, his face set towards the high castle hill, which he presently ascended by the winding flight of stone steps, and standing at last on the summit, in the beautiful garden laid out on the side of the long-ruined château, paused to rest. The sun was strong, the sky cloudless, and in every direction the view was superb. As he stood leaning over the stone parapet, the Cape of Antibes, the Iles de Lerins, the mouth of the broad stony Var, and the town of Nice were at his feet, while behind stretched the green valley of the Paillon, with the white monasteries of Cimiez and St Pons, the distant château of St Andre, the peaks of Mont Chauve, and the Aspremont, with the blue distant Alps forming a picturesque background. He removed his hat, and allowed the fresh breeze that came up from the sea to fan his heated temples.

He was alone, save for a solitary sentinel standing with fixed bayonet some distance away, at the entrance to a large platform, where several guns were mounted behind baskets filled with stones, and as he leaned, his eyes fixed blankly upon the sea, some low words escaped him.

“Yes,” he murmured in desperation, “this is indeed the last drop that has filled my cup of affliction. Poor Liane! How can I tell her? How can I go to her and confess the ghastly truth? If I do; if I tell her of the terrible secret which I had believed was mine alone, she – the child whom I have loved and cherished all these years, will turn from me with loathing.”

His hands were clenched, his brow furrowed, and upon his usually merry countenance was a settled look of unutterable despair.

“No, it is impossible – absolutely impossible,” he went on, sighing deeply, after a few moments. “To tell her the truth would only be to increase her unhappiness and cause her to hate me, therefore I cannot – I dare not! No; Zertho is inexorable. I must sacrifice Liane in order to save myself.”

Again he was silent, pondering deeply, and striving to form some plan by which to save his daughter from being forced into this undesirable union. But he could conceive none. Even if he defied this man who was endeavouring to secure Liane, and boldly met the terrible consequences of the exposure of his secret, he saw that such a course must reflect upon her, for she would then be alone in the world – friendless, forsaken and penniless; while if he fled, he must be found sooner or later, for within twenty-four hours the police of Europe would be actively searching for him. Then, calmly and without fear, he thought of suicide, his one desire being to save Liane from disgrace. Leaning over the parapet, he gazed far down upon the brown, rocky crags, beaten time after time by the great rolling waves as they broke and threw up columns of white spray. He was contemplating how best to end his life. He could leave her a letter confessing all the truth, and thus save her from becoming the wife of this titled adventurer. Yet again a difficulty presented itself. To act thus would be cowardly; besides which Liane would also be left without money, and without a protector. For a long time he carefully reviewed all the facts, at length arriving at the same conclusion as before, that his suicide would only bring increased disaster upon the child he idolised.

“No,” he exclaimed aloud, between his set teeth. “There is but one way – one way alone. She must become Princess. I must obey Zertho, and compel her to marry him. All these long weeks have I striven against it, knowing that once united to such an unprincipled brute, her days must be full of wretchedness and despair. Nay, I am prepared to sacrifice everything for her sake; nevertheless, if I boldly face my enemies, or take my life to escape them, the result would be the same. Liane would be left friendless. To me through all these dark days she has been the one joy of my aimless, weary life; hers has been the one bright face that has cheered me times without number when I should have otherwise knocked under. I have striven my best to keep her uncontaminated by the reckless world in which I’ve been compelled to move, and none can ever charge me with neglect of her. Yet this is the end. She must be torn from me, and be given to this unscrupulous blackmailer whom the possession of wealth has converted from my friend into my enemy.”

Erle Brooker, by profession an adventurer, but at heart generous and tender as a woman, had come to Nice solely on Liane’s account, because he had been convinced by Zertho’s argument that she was moping sadly at Stratfield Mortimer. Although he had accepted the invitation he had never for one moment intended that Liane should become Princess d’Auzac until his whilom partner had pronounced it imperative. Then, hour by hour, day by day, he had sought means whereby Zertho might be dissuaded from pressing his claim, until now he was compelled to acknowledge his hope an utterly forlorn one.

“Alas!” he sighed, leaning his fevered weary head on both his hands. “All happiness and gaiety must be crushed from her heart; her young life must be wrecked because of my sin. I, her father, must persuade, nay insist upon her taking a step that she must regret her whole life through, and use towards that end arguments which I would rather my tongue were torn out than I should utter. Ah, Liane,” he cried, brokenly, in a voice of despair, “if you could but realise all that I have suffered these past weeks. But you must not; you, at least, shall never know the cause of this deadly fear which holds me paralysed beneath the relentless thrall of the one man who knows the truth. No, you must marry him, and thereby secure his silence. Your consent to become Princess d’Auzac can alone save me.”

Again he was silent, deep in contemplation of the terrible truth, when suddenly behind him sounded a peal of merry laughter, and turning quickly, he saw he had been joined upon the platform by Liane and two bright English girls who were living at the same pension with them. They had ascended the long flights of steps, and were entirely out of breath.

“Why, dear old dad!” cried Liane, in surprise, “whoever would have thought of finding you up here at this hour?”