Chapter Thirty Three. La Petite Hirondelle.

The fine old banqueting hall at Coombe, with its dark oak panelling and polished floor, transformed for the nonce into a ballroom presented an animated and pleasing spectacle.

In the decorations, flags and palms had been used, and the ferns and evergreens ornamenting the walls contrasted well with the bright dresses of the dancers. The myriad lights in the magnificent chandeliers re fleeting in the mirrors multiplied and increased in effect; the air was heavy with the perfume of exotics; and the strains of tripping music from the band, now loud and fast, and again soft and low, resounded through the mansion. At the farther end of the hall a large square window stood open and gave exit to the garden, every bush and tree of which was illuminated by fairy lamps, notwithstanding that the night was frosty and moonlit.

Valérie’s outward and visible signs of lamentation had been of brief duration. Within a year of her husband’s reported demise she threw off the trammels of widowhood, cast aside her weeds, and at once set herself to lead the unconventional set into which she had entered during her former residence in London. With a Parisienne’s love of admiration, her ambition for several years had been to outvie the other women who comprised her circle; and now, with wealth at her command and an establishment as fine as any in the county, she was enabled to indulge every whim and entertain her guests in a lavish manner which caused them envy.

For the most part her acquaintances were women who were shunned by the disciples of Mother Grundy; some cigarette-smoking Bohemians whose only offence against society’s unwritten laws was that they exhibited their un-conventionalities openly; others pure adventuresses almost as fair and fascinating as herself. During the year she lived in England immediately before meeting Hugh, she had come into contact with these people, and after her sudden acquisition of fortune she had lost no time in renewing their acquaintance.

It is astonishing what a large number of friends a wealthy women can command, even though she be placed beyond the pale of society and has never bowed before her august Sovereign. If she be handsome and fashionable, she can easily conquer the prejudices of the hypercritical followers of Dame Straightlace. Thus, although the magnates of North Cornwall and their wives and daughters were somewhat shocked and scandalised by her brief period of mourning, and the apparent levity with which she regarded her bereavement, nevertheless many retained a visiting intimacy with the widow of the once popular young owner of Coombe.

Assessing the value of her personal charms correctly, her attempt to shine as the leader of a smart set had not failed. Aware that should her connection with Pierre become known it would be to her detriment, she had arranged with him to keep apart from her as much as possible; therefore the direction of her affections was suspected only by one or two of her oldest friends. Her fêtes were characterised by their extravagance and profuse display, for she spared no effort to ensure the enjoyment of those who accepted her hospitality; nevertheless, on this particular night she had eclipsed the menu of pleasures previously provided.

An entertainment so novel could scarcely fail to be a success. Possibly it might have stirred feelings of pain and indignation within the breasts of the pharasaical, but as none of that order were included in the company, a satisfactory issue of the terpsichorean novelty was assured.

It was nothing less than a reproduction of that strange spectacle which was originated at Ootacamund by the Governor and his select circle, and which caused so much excitement and comment in Madras, the Demon’s Dance.

The ball had opened with two extras and two valses, after which came the feature of the evening.

As the first discordant crash of music was heard, eight men rushed into the room. The attire of these imitators of his Satanic majesty was in itself remarkable. Long black-forked tails, tufts of hair on either side of the head, gave the idea of pointed ears; black coats, with a kind of bat’s wing under the arm and joined at the side; black bands of silk across the shirt front covering all gleams of white, knee-breeches, silk stockings, and pumps. Each in his rush along the room seized a reluctant angel, and dragged her to a place in the set. Their fair partners were most becomingly attired in soft flowing robes of white, with silver girdles, stars in their hair, flowing wing sleeves, and a big spray of lilies in their hands.

No one but the eight from above and the subterranean eight took part in this dance, the rest being content to watch the curious sight. They danced with wonderful fiendish grace and agility, dragging their partners, whirling them round and pirouetting around them. Some angels appeared to dance easily while others, feigning reluctance, unwillingly went through the set. Valérie, in the arms of a tall demoniacal partner, almost flew about, her feet scarcely touching the ground, and her face bearing an expression of intense satisfaction and enjoyment.

The bright spirits, with their sable lords, having finished the Lancers, concluded with a wild rapid waltz.

The radiant hostess, flushed by excitement, had been led to her seat, and was receiving the congratulations of her guests on the success of the entertainment, when Jacob crossed the room and deferentially accosted her.

“Well, what’s the matter?” she inquired, scanning the servitor sharply.

“A gentleman in the library wishes to speak to you, madame. He will not give his card,” said the old man.

“I can’t be troubled now to see anyone,” she replied petulantly.

“Excuse me, madame,” he exclaimed, bowing. “But I think he desires to see you on very urgent business.”

“Do you know what it is? Haven’t I told you often to always ask strangers what they want to see me about?”

“I have asked him, madame, but he refused to tell me,” said Jacob, undisturbed by her impatience. “He said he wished to see you at once and alone.”

“Alone,” she repeated, in surprise. “I wonder who it can be?”

Then reflecting that any business at that hour must be of importance, she directed the servant to take her to where the stranger was in waiting.

The library, a small, quaint old room, was situated in a wing of the building, at some distance from where the ball was in progress, and was virtually shut off from the rest of the house by baize doors placed halfway down the corridor.

Jacob led the way, and, ceremoniously throwing open the door of the apartment, announced the advent of his mistress. The two shaded candles which stood upon the writing-table threw such a dim light over the sombre room that when she entered she did not for the moment recognise her visitor.

The door had closed.

He rose slowly from a chair near the fire, and walked towards her.

“Dieu! Jack! Why, what means this?” she cried in amazement, when she recognised him.

“You have company to-night,” observed the artist, without offering to shake hands. “I thought it probable that, under the circumstances, you would not grant an interview to an old friend.”

“How absurd! Why, you must know you are always a welcome guest here,” and she beamed upon him one of her sweetest smiles.

As she stood before him in the subdued light he gazed upon her in hesitation. Her costume was perfect, enhanced as it was by a sparkling diamond star in her hair and a necklet of exquisite brilliants. Her dress was of white silk, with very high sleeves, mounted in a sort of ball at the shoulder, hanging draperies from the arms representing wings, which expanded as she moved, and silver bands around a very high waist and under and across each arm.

“The welcome you accord me is somewhat premature,” he observed meaningly. “No doubt you have a morbid satisfaction in seeing the man who is under your thrall—the miserable, deluded fool who stained his hands with a terrible crime for your sake, yet you—”

“Why refer to that horrid affair?”, she asked, shuddering slightly. “Let’s forget it.”

“No doubt you wish that dark page in your history to be closed,” he said ominously; “but, strangely enough, it is upon that very subject I have sought this interview.”

“What do you want, pray?” she asked quickly.

“Merely to introduce two persons to you—old friends.”

“Old friends!” she echoed. “Who are they?”

For answer, Egerton crossed the apartment and opened the door communicating with an ante-chamber. As he did so two persons advanced into the library.

“Gabrielle! Hugh!” she gasped, a look of sudden terror overspreading her countenance.

The tableau was well arranged and striking.

Valérie’s glance shifted in alarm from one to the other, while her three visitors looked upon her in silence, with expressions of calm, confident determination.

Hugh Trethowen’s countenance was careworn and pale; his whole appearance was that of a man weighed down by profound grief. The sufferings and privations had aged him considerably, yet there were in his face traces of some new feeling. His mouth, as a rule so serious, actually smiled; his look had more animation than it was wont to have, and altogether he had somewhat about him which was at once sad, malevolent, and self-satisfied.

“I—I did not expect this pleasure,” the adventuress stammered, with bitter sarcasm, without asking them to be seated.

The icy reception did not astonish them. They were fully prepared to meet the passionate wrath which they knew would be stirred within her.

“We are unwelcome, no doubt,” said Gabrielle Debriège, with a cynical smile. “Nevertheless, it is a long time, madame, since you and I met.”

“And what have I to do with you, pray?” cried Hugh’s wife, drawing herself up to her full height, and standing erect before them. “It is gross impudence for a woman of such reputation as yourself to claim my acquaintance. I do not forget what you were in Paris.”

“Oh, indeed!” replied mademoiselle. “Before you asperse my character, think of your own.”

“Who dares to defame me?” she asked indignantly.

“I do,” declared mademoiselle.

This bold reply caused the colour to flee from her cheeks, for the object of their visit began to dawn upon her.

“I have come here, madame,” continued Gabrielle, “to bring your lost husband before you, so that he may hear the true story of your perfidy; I have—”

“By Heaven! I’ll strangle you!” Valérie hissed, stepping forward threateningly, with clenched hands and flashing eyes.

The two women were, however, separated by the writing-table.

“First, listen to what I have to say,” the other replied coolly. “I alone know the truth, and it is useless to protest your innocence or deny your guilt—”

“The truth of what?”

“Victor has confessed,” said Gabrielle, without answering the question.

“Confessed!” she repeated, betraying increased alarm.

“By your treachery he was sent to penal servitude, but your plan proved rather too ingenious, for, strangely enough, he denounced you to a fellow-convict, who chanced to be your husband!”

Valérie glanced sharply at Hugh, with unwavering gaze.

“Yes,” he said, in a tone of disgust, speaking for the first time. “Your lover told me the horrible story, how—like myself—he had been tricked and wronged by you. I can scarcely believe that I ever loved a woman so vile and despicable, so depraved by sin as yourself.”

“Vile and despicable!” she echoed, in anger. “What have I done that you, too, should turn against me?”

“If you forget,” interposed Gabrielle, “I’ll refresh your memory.”

“I desire to hear none of the vilifying denunciations. Let me get back to my guests.”

“No,” said Egerton, turning the key in the door, and placing it in his pocket. “You don’t leave here yet. We have not finished.”

She turned upon him like an infuriated animal brought to bay.

“You,” she cried, scanning him from head to toe in exasperation. “Do you consider it wise for you—of all men—to interfere with my liberty? Remember the affair of the Boulevard Haussmann!”

The speech had its desired effect. The artist shrank from her.

“At the same time,” exclaimed Gabrielle, addressing her, “remember there are other sentences in the Penal Code besides imprisonment.”

“I don’t understand you,” answered Valérie, giving her shoulders a shrug indicative of unconcern.

“There is death for those who take the lives of their fellow-creatures.”

The adventuress shuddered. Then resuming her air of indifference, said—

“You are talking enigmas.”

“You wish me to speak more plainly. Very well. Perhaps you have forgotten that night we met at my rooms in the Boulevard St. Michel, when, after your taunts and threats, I prophesied that a day would come when I would hold your life in my hands, and compel you to beg for mercy. That day has dawned.”

“I’ll not stay here to be insulted in my own house,” cried Valérie fiercely.

“We shall compel you,” remarked her husband abruptly.

“This is some infamous plot against me,” she said, boldly facing him. “You are unworthy the name of husband if you do not protect me from this pair of criminals.”

“We’ve had enough of heroic talk,” interrupted Gabrielle impatiently. “It will be as well to get to the business of our visit at once.”

“If your business is only to insult me, I’ll ring for the servants and have you turned out.”

“In that case we should embrace the opportunity of relating to your guests a story which would no doubt interest them,” answered Gabrielle calmly.

“Bah! you are cowards,” she said, with face blanched by rage. “Three of you against one defenceless woman!”

“Ah; do not malign us,” urged the other, in a tone of banter. “I know that the sight of your husband is somewhat embarrassing, especially when you and your adored Pierre very ingeniously proved his demise.” With a smile she added: “I should feel a trifle disconcerted myself under such distressing circumstances. Indeed, it is a most awkward contretemps, is it not?”

“Sacré! keep your sympathies to yourself,” screamed Valérie, with a sudden outburst of terrible passion.

Then, panting with excitement, she stood supporting herself by a chair, and facing her traducers. She saw plainly that the result of the conflict must be either complete annihilation, or a triumphant vindication of the character which Hugh had hitherto considered immaculate.

Drawing a deep breath, she braced herself up for the ordeal, and stood ready to hurl back the accusation into the teeth of her enemies.