The Victorian Rogues MEGAPACK ®. Морис Леблан
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pourquoi nous la chantons:
Vive la Noire et ses tetons!”
The reveller carried in his hand a wand with jingling bells, and was no doubt on his way to the ball that was to take place later that night at the Casino Municipal—the first bal masqué of Carnival.
He almost fell against me, and straightening himself suddenly, I saw that he was about thirty, and rather good-looking—a thin, narrow face, typically Parisian.
“Pardon, m’sieur!” he exclaimed, bowing, then suddenly glancing at Pierrette at my side he stood for a few seconds, glaring at her as though utterly dumbfounded. “Nom d’un chien!” he gasped. “P’tite Pier’tte!—Wouf!”
And next second he placed his hand over his mouth, turned, and was lost in the crowd.
The girl at my side seemed confused, and it struck me that Madame also recognised him.
“Who was he?” I wondered.
The incident was, no doubt, a disconcerting one for them both, because from that moment their manner changed. The gambling within the big rotunda had no interest for either of them, and a quarter of an hour later Madame, with her peculiar rasping voice, said—
“Pierrette, ma chère, it is time we returned,” to which the girl acquiesced without comment.
Therefore I took them along to Beaulieu and deposited them at the door of their hotel.
Having seen them safely inside, I turned the car round and went back to Nice.
It was then about ten o’clock, but on the night of a Carnival ball the shops in the Avenue de la Gare are all open, and the dresses necessary for the ball are still displayed. Therefore, having put the car into the garage again, I purchased a pierrot’s kit similar to that worn by the reveller, a black velvet loup, or mask, put them on in the shop, and then walked along to the Casino.
I need not tell you of the ball, of the wild antics of the revellers of both sexes, of the games of leap-frog played by the men, of the great rings of dancers, joining hand in hand, or of the beautiful effect of the two shades of colour seen everywhere. It has been described a hundred times. Moreover, I had not gone there to dance, I was there to watch, and if possible to speak with the man who had so gaily sung “La Noire” among the smart, aristocratic crowd on the Jetée.
But in that great crowd, with nearly everyone wearing their masks, it was impossible to recognise him. The only part I recollected that was peculiar about him was that he had a white ruffle around his neck, instead of a mauve or green one, and it occurred to me that on entering the masters of the ceremonies would compel him to remove it as being against the rules to wear anything but the colours laid down by the committee.
I was looking for a pierrot without a ruffle, and my search was long and in vain.
Till near midnight I went among that mad crowd, but could not recognise him. He might, I reflected, be by that hour in such a state of intoxication as to be unable to come to the ball at all.
Suddenly, however, as I was brushing past two masked dancers who were standing chatting at one of the doors leading from the Casino into the theatre where the ball was in progress, one of them exclaimed with a French accent—
“Hulloa, Ewart!”
“Hulloa!” I replied, for I had removed my mask for a few moments because of the heat. “Who are you?”
“‘The President,’” he responded in a low voice, and I knew that it was Henri Regnier.
“You’re the very man I want to see. Come over here, and let’s talk.”
Both of us moved away into a corner of the Casino where it was comparatively quiet, and Regnier removed his mask, declaring that the heat was stifling.
“Look here,” he said in a tone of confidence, “I want to know—I’m very interested to know—how you became acquainted with little Pierrette Dumont. I hear you’ve been about with her all day.”
“How did you know?” I asked.
“I was told,” he laughed. “I find out things I want to know.”
“Then her name is really Dumont?” I asked quickly.
“I suppose so. That will do as well as any other—eh?” and he laughed.
“But last night you were not open with me, my dear Henri,” I replied;“therefore why should I be open with you?”
“Well—for your own sake.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean this,” said Regnier, with a glance at his silent friend, who still retained his mask, and to whom he had not introduced me. “You’re putting your head into a noose by going about with her. You should avoid her.”
“Why? She’s most charming.”
“I admit that. But for your own sake you should exercise the greatest care. I follow the same profession as you and your people do—and I merely warn you,” he said very seriously.
The man standing by him exclaimed in French—
“Phew! What an atmosphere!” and removed his velvet mask.
It was the gay boulevardier whom I had seen on the Jetée Promenade.
“Why do you warn me?” I inquired, surprised at the reveller’s grave face, so different from what it had been when he had shaken his bells and sung the merry chorus of “La Noire.”
“Because you’re acting the fool, Ewart,” Regnier replied.
“I’m merely taking them about on the car.”
“But how did you first come across them?” he repeated.
“That’s my own affair, mon cher,” I responded, with a laugh; for I could not quite see why he took such an interest in us both, or why he should have been watching us.
“Oh, very well,” he answered in a tone of slight annoyance. “Only tell your people to be careful. And don’t say I didn’t warn you. I know her—and you don’t.”
“Yes,” interposed his companion. “We both know her, Henri, don’t we—to our cost, eh?”
“She recognised you this evening,” I said.
“I know. I was amazed to find her here, in Nice—and with the old woman, too!”
“But who is she? Tell me the truth,” I urged.
“She’s somebody you ought not to know, Ewart,” replied “The President.”
“She can do you no good—only harm.”
“How?”
“Well, I tell you this much, that I wouldn’t care to run the risk of taking her about as you are doing.”
“You’re talking in riddles. Why not?” I queried.
“Because, as I’ve already told you, it’s dangerous—very dangerous.”
“You mean that she knows who and what we are?”
“She knows more than you think. I wouldn’t trust her as far as I could see her. Would you, Raoul?” he asked his companion.
“But surely she hasn’t long been out of the schoolroom.”
“Schoolroom!” echoed Regnier. And both men burst out laughing.
“Look here, Ewart,” he said, “you’d better get on that demon automobile of yours and run back to your own London. You’re far too innocent to be here, on the Côte d’Azur, in Carnival time.”
“And yet I fancy I know the Riviera and its ways as well as most men,” I remarked.
“Well, however much you know, you’re