The Princess Passes Volume 56 by Alice Muriel Williamson, Charles Norris Williamson (great book club books .txt) 📕

"I Shall Stroll In, When I've Got Rid Of The Dust. The Rooms Are The

Place To Come Across People."

"All Right, Gang Your Ain Gait, My Son, And I Suppose I Must Wish You

Luck. Daresay We Shall See Each Other Before Bedtime."

A Few Hours Later, I Was Walking Down Through The Gardens, On My Way

To The Casino. The Young Grass, Sown Last Month, Had Already Become

Green Velvet, And The Flowers Were As Fresh As If They Had Been

Created An Hour Ago. The Air Smelled Of La France Roses And Orange

Blossoms, Though I Saw Neither. Some Pretty Austrian Girls Were

Walking About In Muslin Frocks And Gauzy Hats, Though By This Time,

In England, Women Were Putting On Their Fur Boas In Deference To

Autumn; And A Few Days Ago I Had Been Lost In A Snowstorm On A

Middle-Sized Mountain Of Savoie.

As I Drew Near To The Big White Casino, Strains Of Music Came To Me

From The Terrace, And Thinking That The Boy Might Be There Listening

To The Band, I Went Through The Tunnel And Came Out On The Beautiful

Flower-Decked Plateau Overhanging The Sea. Out Of Season Though It

Was, A Great Many People Were Sitting There, Drinking Tea Or Coffee,

And Listening To "La Paloma."

The Windows Of The Casino Were Open, Protected By Awnings; Birds Were

Taking Their Last Flight, Before Going To Bed In Some Orange Or Lemon

Tree. The Place Was More Charming Than In The High Season; But The

Face I Looked For Was Not To Be Seen, And I Deserted The Terrace For

The Rooms.

I Had Not Been To "Monte" Since The Boer War; And When I Had Gone

Through The Formalities At The Bureau, And Entered The First _Salle_,

It Struck Me Strangely To Find Everything Exactly As I Had Left It

Years Ago.

The Same Heavy Stillness, Emphasised By The Continuous Chink, Chink Of

Gold And Silver, And Broken Only By The Announcement Of Events At

Different Tables: "_Onze, Noir, Impair Et Manque";--"Rien Ne Va

Plus";--"Zèro!_"

The Same _Onze_; The Same _Rien N'va Plus_; The Same _Zèro_ Heralded

In The Same Secretly Joyous, Outwardly Apologetic Tone, By The

Croupiers Fortunate Enough To Produce It. The Same Croupiers Too;--(Or

Do Croupiers Develop A Family Likeness Of Face, Of Voice, Of Coat, As

The Years Go Chinking Zeroly On?). The Same Players, Or Their

_Doppelgängers_; The Same Pictured Nymphs Smiling On The Ornate

Walls. But There Was No Boy, No Boy's Sister; And Suddenly It Occurred

To Me That I Was Foolish To Expect Him. He Was Too Childlike In

Appearance To Have Obtained A Ticket Of Admission To The Gambling

Rooms.

Since It Was Useless To Look For Him Here, And No Other Place Seemed

Promising At This Hour, There Was Nothing To Do But Pass The Moments

Until Time To Change For Dinner. Accordingly I Watched The Tables.

Once, Like Most Men Of My Age, I Had Been Bitten By The Roulette Fever

And Had Wrestled With "Systems" In Their Thousands, Not So Much For

The Mere "Gamble," As For The Joy Of Striving To Beat The Wily Pascal

At His Own Invention.

In Those Old Days The Wheel Had Been Like A Populous Town For Me,

Inhabited By Quaint Little People, Each Living In His Own Snug House;

The Little People Of Roulette. Not A Number On The Board But His Face

Was Familiar To Me; I Would Have Known Him If I Had Met Him In The

Street. There Was Sly, Thin, Dark Little Dix, Always Sneaking Up On

Tiptoe When You Did Not Want Him, And Popping Out Behind Your Back.

Business-Like, Successful, Bustling Onze; Tactless But Honest Douze;

Treacherous Yet Fascinating Treize; Blundering Seize; Graceful,

Brunette Dix-Sept; And The Faithful, Friendly Vingtneuf; Feminine

Rouge; Brusque, Virile Noir; Mean Little, Underbred Manque, And Senile

Passe; Priggish Pair With His Skittish Young Wife; The Dozens,

_Nouveaux-Riches_, Thinking Themselves A Cut Above The Humbler Simple

Chances In Roulette Society; The Upright, Unbending Columns; The

Raffish Chevaux; The Excitable Transversales, And The Brilliant

Carrés; Charming On First Acquaintance, But Fickle As Friends; The

Twin, Blind Dwarfs, The Coups Des Deux; These And Many More, Down To

The Wretched, Worried Intermittances, Ever In A Violent Hurry To Catch

A Train But Never Catching It. I Could See Them All, Still; But I Saw

Them Pass With Calmness Now, For I Wanted To Find The Boy.

    "A Little Thing Would Make Me Tell

     . . . How Much I Lack Of A Man."

                         --Shakespeare.

The Palace Clock Over In Monaco Was Striking Eight As I Reached The

Steps Of The Hôtel De Paris. Eight Had Been The Hour Appointed. Now,

Here Were Both The Hour And The Man: But Where Was The Boy?

I Walked Into The Gay Restaurant, With Its Window-Wall, And The Long

Rank Of Candle-Lit Tables Ready For Dinner. Twenty People, Perhaps,

Were Dining; But There Was No Slim Figure In Short Black Jacket, Eton

Collar, And Loose Silk Tie; No Curly Chestnut Head; No Blue-Star Eyes.

Cordially Disliking Everybody Present, I Marched Down The Length Of

The Room, And Took A Corner Table, Which Was Laid For Four. On The

Sparkling Snow Of The Damask Cloth Burned A Bonfire Of Scarlet

Geraniums, And Two Red-Shaded Wax Candles, Of The Kind Which The Boy

Used To Call "Candles With Nostrils," Made Wavering Rose-Lights On The

White Expanse.

I Sat Down, And An Attentive Waiter Appeared At My Elbow, Having

Apparently Shot Up From The Floor Like A Pantomime Demon.

"Monsieur Desires Dinner For One?" He Deferentially Enquired.

"I Am Expecting One Or Perhaps Two Friends," I Replied. "I Will Wait

For Them Half An Hour. If They Do Not Come By The End Of That Time, I

Will Dine Alone."

"Will Monsieur Please To Regard The Menu?"

"Yes, Thanks."

He Put It In My Hand With An Appetizing Bow, Which Would Have Been

Almost As Good As An _Hors D'oeuvre_ Had My Mood Been Appreciative Of

Delicacies. But It Was Not; Neither Could I Fix My Mind Upon The

Ordering Of A Dinner. My Eyes Would Keep Jumping To The Glass Door At

The Far End Of The Room. "I Want The Best Dinner The House Can Serve,"

I Said, Meanly Shifting Responsibility. "Not Too Long A Dinner,

But--Oh Well, You May Tell The Chef I Depend Upon His Choice."

"I Quite Understand, Monsieur. A Dinner To Please A Lady, Is It Not?"

"Yes. Something To Please A Lady." Was There Not The Boy's Sister To

Be Catered For In Case She Should Come? In Thinking Of Him I Must Not

Forget Her. But Then, How Improbable It Was That My Poor Dinner Would

Be Tasted By Either!

"And For Wine, Monsieur?"

I Ordered At Random The Brand Of Champagne Which Had Seemed Like

Nectar To The Boy And Me That Evening In Far Away Aosta, When The

Compact Of Our Friendship Was First Made. But Yes, Certainly, It Was

To Be Had. And It Should In An All Little Moment Be On The Ice.

The Waiter Glided Away To Make That Little Moment Less, And I Was Left

To Measure It And Its Brothers. One After Another They Passed. What A

Pity The Moment Family Is Such A Large One! I Stared At The Glass

Door. Other Men's Friends Came In By It, But Not Mine. I Glared At

The Window Close To Which I Sat. The Peculiarly Theatrical Effect Of

Daylight Melting Into Night, As Seen At Monte Carlo And Nowhere Else,

Added To The Sensation Of Suspense I Felt, As When The Curtain Is

About To Rise On The Crowning Act Of An Exciting Play.

The Scene Out There In The Place Was Exactly Like A Setting For The

Stage. The Great White Casino, With The Constant _Va Et Vient_ To And

From The Open Doorway; The Bubbly Domes Of The Fantastically Moorish

Café Across The Way; The Velvet Grass, Unnaturally Green In The

Electric Light; The Flower Beds In The Garden A Mosaic Floor Of

Coloured Jewels; The Air Blue As A Gauze Veil, With Diamonds Shining

Through Its Meshes; And Over All A Serene Arch Of Hyacinth Sky,

Pulsing With Smouldering Ashes-Of-Rose Just Above The Purple Line Of

Mountain-Tops.

A Carriage Drove Quickly Past The Window, And Stopped, Far On At The

Main Door Of The Hotel. More People For Dinner; But Not The Boy. I

Indistinctly Saw A Tall Man And Two Ladies In Long Evening Cloaks Step

Out; Then I Turned My Eyes Elsewhere.

Over On The Brightly Lighted Balcony Of The Café De Paris Opposite,

The "Out-Of-Season" Musicians Were Playing "Sole Mio," And The

Yearning Strains Of That Simple, Hackneyed Italian Love Song Stirred

My Veins Oddly.

The Glass Door Down At The Other End Of The Room Opened, And The

Movement There Caught My Eyes. A Girl Came In, Alone, And Stood Still

As If Looking For Someone--Her Slender White Figure, In Its Long

Flowing Cloak, Clearly Outlined Against A Darker Background. She Was