The Car of Destiny
says; but other people say he’s at Monte Carlo. Anyhow, he’s expected here
in time for the ball.”
“What ball?”
“Didn’t I tell you? A masked ball the old Duchess is giving in honour of
Princess Ena. A grand affair it will be, says de la Mole. There’s been
jealousy about the invitations, which have been carefully weeded.”
“You and I’ll accept,” said I.
“We’re not likely to have the chance.”
“Sometimes a man must make a chance. I shall meet Lady Monica at the
Duchess’s ball.”
“All right. Suppose you go in the garb of a palmer?”
“Eh?”
“I was thinking of another first meeting, case not dissimilar, you know,
Romeo and Juliet. My poor, mad friend, there’s more hope for a Montague
with a Capulet than for a Casa Triana with a friend of the future Queen of
Spain, and the daughter of a Lady Vale-Avon.”
“Romeo won Juliet.”
“It wasn’t exactly a fortunate marriage. See here, if you’re going in for
the part of Romeo, it’s no good asking me to play Mercutio.”
I looked at Dick and smiled. “I shall ask nothing,” I said. “Yet—”
“Yet, you know mighty well, if you want a Mercutio, I’ll be ready to take
up the rôle at a moment’s notice all for the sake of your _beaux yeux_.
Well, you’re right. There’s something queer about you, Ramón, which makes
us others glad to do what we can, even if it were to cost our lives. If
you’d been a king in exile, you’d have had no trouble in finding
followers. From your French valet to your Russian soldiers; from your
English chauffeur to your American friend, it’s pretty well the same. I
expect you’ll get to that masked ball.”
“If I don’t, it won’t be for lack of trying,” said I.
“But—”
“But what—”
“This affair of yours is going to end in tragedy—for someone,” said Dick.
III
THE GUEST WHO WAS NOT ASKED
During the next two or three days I found more to do. I got Dick to
introduce me to his friend Henri de la Mole, not as Christopher Trevenna,
but under my own name, and when he and his sister had been interested in
what they chose to think a romance, I was able to learn through them that,
curiously enough, Lady Vale-Avon had arranged for her daughter to appear
at the ball as Juliet.
The costume, it seemed, decided itself, because there happened to be among
Lady Vale-Avon’s inherited and most treasured possessions, an interesting
pearl head-dress of the conventional Juliet fashion. This had been sent
for from England; and if I could succeed in getting to the ball, as I
fully intended to do, I should have little difficulty in identifying the
head that I adored.
Had I not taken de la Mole more or less into my confidence, he would have
done nothing to further my interests; but, if I really have any such power
as Dick Waring hinted, I used it to enlist de la Mole upon my side.
Finally he not only agreed, but offered to help me enter the Duchess of
Carmona’s house as one of her masked guests. He had been asked to stand at
the door that night, and request each person, or in any case the man of
each party, to raise his mask for an instant. This, in order to keep out
reporters and intruders of all sorts; and his promise was to let me pass
in unchallenged. I might count on his good offices, not only in that way,
but in any other way possible, for “all the world loves a lover,” said he.
And he wished me the best of luck, though he looked as if he hardly
expected me to have it.
Probably it was foolish and conceited, but I could not resist playing up
to the rôle Dick suggested. She was to be Juliet. I would be Romeo.
By this time, no doubt, the Duchess’s invited guests had their costumes
well under way; I had to get mine, and the only way to have something
worthy of the occasion was to go to Paris for it. I did go, and was back
in Biarritz in two days.
The rest moved easily, without a hitch. The night of the ball came. I
dressed and went alone, rather than drag Dick into an affair which might
end disagreeably.
I did not put myself forward, but stood for a while and watched the
dancers, waiting for my chance.
Carmona had arrived the day before. I had never met him, but what I had
heard I did not like; and having seen him once or twice in London, at a
distance, he was recognizable in a costume copied from a famous portrait
of that Duke of Alba who loomed great in Philip the Second’s day. Because
of a slight difference one from the other, in the height of his shoulders,
he was difficult to disguise; and though the arrangement of the costume
was intended to hide the peculiarity, it was perceptible.
When the “Duke of Alba” had danced twice in succession with Juliet
Capulet, I could bear my rôle of watcher no longer. Besides, I knew that I
had not much time to waste. For the sake of de la Mole, who had run the
risk of admitting a stranger, I must vanish before the hour for the masks
to fall. When I took off my cap and bowed before this white Juliet with
the pearl-laced plaits of gold, she gazed at me through her velvet mask in
the silence of surprise. I could not guess whether she puzzled herself as
to what was under my yellow-brown wig and my mask; but at least she must
know it was Romeo who begged a dance.
I did not urge my claim on such a plea, however, least it should rouse
Carmona’s opposition, and cause him to keep the girl from me if he could.
I merely said, “The next is our dance,” risking a rebuff; but it did not
come.
“Yes,” she said, almost timidly. It was the first time I had heard her
speak, and her voice went to my heart.
The Duke stared, as though he would have stripped off my mask by sheer
force of curiosity. But he had to let the girl go; and as the music began
she was in my arms. I hardly dared believe my own luck. Neither of us
spoke. I was lost in the sense of her nearness, the knowledge that it was
the music which gave me the right to hold her thus, and that when the
music died I must let her go.
But a quick thought came. If we danced the waltz through, Carmona or
someone else would claim her for the next. If I could hide the girl before
it was over, perhaps I might keep her for a little time. Indeed, I must
keep her, if this meeting were not to end in failure; for there were
things I had to say.
The conservatory was too obvious; and the shallow staircase with its
rose-garlanded balusters, and its fat silk cushion for each step, would
soon be invaded by a dozen couples. What to do, then? I would have given
much to know the house.
“I must speak with you,” I said at last. “Where can we go?”
She did not say in return, “Do you know me, then?” or any other
conventional thing. The hope in me that she had remembered well enough to
guess who I was, brightened. She would not have answered a person she
regarded as a stranger, as she answered me,
“There’s a card-room at the end of the corridor to the left, off the big
hall, where we might rest for a moment or two,” she said. “But I mustn’t
stop long.”
“No,” I promised. “I won’t try to keep you. I ask only a few moments. I
can’t tell how I thank you for giving me those.”
I threw a glance round for Carmona, and saw him dancing with a stately
Mary Stuart. I guessed his partner to be Lady Vale-Avon; and if I were
right, it was a bad omen. She was not a woman to care for extraneous
dancing, therefore she favoured Carmona in particular.
Still, for the moment he was occupied; and when his back was turned I
whisked Lady Monica out of the ball-room, past the decorated staircase in
the square hall, and to the room at the end of the corridor. There I
pushed aside a portière and followed her in.
She had been right; the room was unoccupied, though two or three bridge
tables were ready for players. In one corner was a small sofa. The girl
sat down, carefully leaving no place for me, even had I presumed; and,
leaning forward, clasped her little hands nervously round her knees.
Then she looked up at me through her mask; and I did not keep her waiting.
“I’ve no invitation to-night,” I said. “But I had to come. I came to see
you. Do you forgive me for saying this?”
“I—think so,” she answered.
“You would be sure, if you knew all.”
“I do know. At least—I mean—but of course, I oughtn’t to be here with
you.”
“According to convention you oughtn’t. Yet—”
“I’m not thinking of conventions. But—oh, I should hate you to
misunderstand!”
“I could never misunderstand.”
I snatched off my mask and stood looking down at her, knowing that my face
would say what was in my heart, and not now wishing to hide the secret.
“You know,” I said, “that I’ve worshipped you since the first moment I saw
you. It was impossible to meet you in any ordinary way, for you have no
friend who would introduce to you the Marqués de Casa Triana. Have you
ever heard that name before, Lady Monica?”
“Yes,” she answered frankly. “I heard it yesterday. From Angèle de la
Mole.”
“Her brother’s a friend of my best friend.”
“I know.”
“If it hadn’t been for him, I should have had great trouble in getting
here to-night. Yet I would have come. Did Mademoiselle de la Mole tell you
that I loved you?”
Lady Monica dropped her head and did not answer, but the little hands were
pressed tightly together.
“I’ve always been proud of my name,” I said, “though it’s counted a
misfortune to bear it; but when I saw you, then I knew for the first time
how great a misfortune it may be.”
“Why?”
“Because my only happiness can come now in having you for my wife; and
even if I could win your love, you wouldn’t be allowed to marry my
father’s son.”
“Your father may have been mistaken,” the girl faltered. “I do think he
was. But he was a gloriously brave man. Even the enemies against whom he
fought must respect his memory. I—I’ve read of him. I—bought a book
yesterday. You see—I’ve thought about you. I couldn’t help it. We saw each
other only those few minutes, and we didn’t even speak; yet somehow it was
different from anything else that ever happened to me.”
“It was fate,” I said. “We were destined to meet, and I was destined to
love you. If I thought I could make you care, that would give me a right I
couldn’t have otherwise; the right to try and win your love, and beat down
every obstacle.”
“I could—I _do_ care,” she whispered. “Even if I were never to see you
again, I shouldn’t forget. This—would be the romance of my life.”
“Angel!” I said. And then she took off her mask, with such a divine smile
that I could have knelt at her feet as at the shrine of a saint.
“Isn’t it wonderful?” she asked. “I didn’t find out your name till
yesterday, though I tried before; and we don’t know each other at all—”
“Why, we’ve known each other since the world began. My soul had been
waiting to find yours again, and found it the other afternoon, on the road
to my own land. That’s what people who don’t understand call ‘love at
first sight.’ ”
“I think it must be so; because there was never anything like that first
minute when you looked at me.”
“If I could have known, it would have saved me sleepless nights. For now
you’re mine, my dearest, just as I am yours. Nothing can take you from me
now.”
“Ah, I’m afraid! Even if—everything were different in your life, it would
be difficult; for—there’s someone else in mine already.”
“There can be no one else, since you care for me.”
“Not _truly_ in my life. But there’s someone my mother wants me to marry.”
“The Duke of Carmona.”
“You knew?”
“You see, I’ve thought of nothing but you; and I’ve learned all I could
about what concerns you.”
“I don’t like him, not even as a friend. He’s handsome enough, but I’m
sure he has a most horrible temper. I could be afraid of him. I believe I
_am_ afraid. And mother—you don’t know her, but—when she makes up her mind