The Gambler
an enormous sum. But worse was to ensue, for one fine morning her
prince disappeared—horses, carriage, and all. Also, the hotel bill
which he left unpaid was enormous. Upon this Mlle. Zelma (the name
which she assumed after figuring as Madame Barberini) was in despair.
She shrieked and howled all over the hotel, and even tore her clothes
in her frenzy. In the hotel there was staying also a Polish count (you
must know that ALL travelling Poles are counts!), and the spectacle of
Mlle. Zelma tearing her clothes and, catlike, scratching her face with
her beautiful, scented nails produced upon him a strong impression. So
the pair had a talk together, and, by luncheon time, she was consoled.
Indeed, that evening the couple entered the Casino arm-in-arm—Mlle.
Zelma laughing loudly, according to her custom, and showing even more
expansiveness in her manners than she had before shown. For instance,
she thrust her way into the file of women roulette-players in the exact
fashion of those ladies who, to clear a space for themselves at the
tables, push their fellow-players roughly aside. Doubtless you have
noticed them?”
“Yes, certainly.”
“Well, they are not worth noticing. To the annoyance of the decent
public they are allowed to remain here—at all events such of them as
daily change 4000 franc notes at the tables (though, as soon as ever
these women cease to do so, they receive an invitation to depart).
However, Mlle. Zelma continued to change notes of this kind, but her
play grew more and more unsuccessful, despite the fact that such
ladies’ luck is frequently good, for they have a surprising amount of
cash at their disposal. Suddenly, the Count too disappeared, even as
the Prince had done, and that same evening Mlle. Zelma was forced to
appear in the Casino alone. On this occasion no one offered her a
greeting. Two days later she had come to the end of her resources;
whereupon, after staking and losing her last louis d’or she chanced to
look around her, and saw standing by her side the Baron Burmergelm, who
had been eyeing her with fixed disapproval. To his distaste, however,
Mlle. paid no attention, but, turning to him with her well-known smile,
requested him to stake, on her behalf, ten louis on the red. Later that
evening a complaint from the Baroness led the authorities to request
Mlle. not to re-enter the Casino. If you feel in any way surprised that
I should know these petty and unedifying details, the reason is that I
had them from a relative of mine who, later that evening, drove Mlle.
Zelma in his carriage from Roulettenberg to Spa. Now, mark you, Mlle.
wants to become Madame General, in order that, in future, she may be
spared the receipt of such invitations from Casino authorities as she
received three years ago. At present she is not playing; but that is
only because, according to the signs, she is lending money to other
players. Yes, that is a much more paying game. I even suspect that the
unfortunate General is himself in her debt, as well as, perhaps, also
De Griers. Or, it may be that the latter has entered into a partnership
with her. Consequently you yourself will see that, until the marriage
shall have been consummated, Mlle. would scarcely like to have the
attention of the Baron and the Baroness drawn to herself. In short, to
any one in her position, a scandal would be most detrimental. You form
a member of the ménage of these people; wherefore, any act of yours
might cause such a scandal—and the more so since daily she appears in
public arm in arm with the General or with Mlle. Polina. _Now_ do you
understand?”
“No, I do not!” I shouted as I banged my fist down upon the
table—banged it with such violence that a frightened waiter came
running towards us. “Tell me, Mr. Astley, why, if you knew this history
all along, and, consequently, always knew who this Mlle. Blanche is,
you never warned either myself or the General, nor, most of all, Mlle.
Polina” (who is accustomed to appear in the Casino—in public everywhere
with Mlle. Blanche). “How could you do it?”
“It would have done no good to warn you,” he replied quietly, “for the
reason that you could have effected nothing. Against what was I to warn
you? As likely as not, the General knows more about Mlle. Blanche even
than I do; yet the unhappy man still walks about with her and Mlle.
Polina. Only yesterday I saw this Frenchwoman riding, splendidly
mounted, with De Griers, while the General was careering in their wake
on a roan horse. He had said, that morning, that his legs were hurting
him, yet his riding-seat was easy enough. As he passed I looked at him,
and the thought occurred to me that he was a man lost for ever.
However, it is no affair of mine, for I have only recently had the
happiness to make Mlle. Polina’s acquaintance. Also”—he added this as
an afterthought—“I have already told you that I do not recognise your
right to ask me certain questions, however sincere be my liking for
you.”
“Enough,” I said, rising. “To me it is as clear as day that Mlle.
Polina knows all about this Mlle. Blanche, but cannot bring herself to
part with her Frenchman; wherefore, she consents also to be seen in
public with Mlle. Blanche. You may be sure that nothing else would ever
have induced her either to walk about with this Frenchwoman or to send
me a note not to touch the Baron. Yes, it is _there_ that the influence
lies before which everything in the world must bow! Yet she herself it
was who launched me at the Baron! The devil take it, but I was left no
choice in the matter.”
“You forget, in the first place, that this Mlle. de Cominges is the
General’s inamorata, and, in the second place, that Mlle. Polina, the
General’s step-daughter, has a younger brother and sister who, though
they are the General’s own children, are completely neglected by this
madman, and robbed as well.”
“Yes, yes; that is so. For me to go and desert the children now would
mean their total abandonment; whereas, if I remain, I should be able to
defend their interests, and, perhaps, to save a moiety of their
property. Yes, yes; that is quite true. And yet, and yet—Oh, I can well
understand why they are all so interested in the General’s mother!”
“In whom?” asked Mr. Astley.
“In the old woman of Moscow who declines to die, yet concerning whom
they are for ever expecting telegrams to notify the fact of her death.”
“Ah, then of course their interests centre around her. It is a question
of succession. Let that but be settled, and the General will marry,
Mlle. Polina will be set free, and De Griers—”
“Yes, and De Griers?”
“Will be repaid his money, which is what he is now waiting for.”
“What? You think that he is waiting for _that?_”
“I know of nothing else,” asserted Mr. Astley doggedly.
“But, I do, I do!” I shouted in my fury. “He is waiting also for the
old woman’s will, for the reason that it awards Mlle. Polina a dowry.
As soon as ever the money is received, she will throw herself upon the
Frenchman’s neck. All women are like that. Even the proudest of them
become abject slaves where marriage is concerned. What Polina is good
for is to fall head over ears in love. That is _my_ opinion. Look at
her—especially when she is sitting alone, and plunged in thought. All
this was pre-ordained and foretold, and is accursed. Polina could
perpetrate any mad act. She—she—But who called me by name?” I broke
off. “Who is shouting for me? I heard some one calling in Russian,
‘Alexis Ivanovitch!’ It was a woman’s voice. Listen!”
At the moment, we were approaching my hotel. We had left the café long
ago, without even noticing that we had done so.
“Yes, I _did_ hear a woman’s voice calling, but whose I do not know.
The someone was calling you in Russian. Ah! NOW I can see whence the
cries come. They come from that lady there—the one who is sitting on
the settee, the one who has just been escorted to the verandah by a
crowd of lacqueys. Behind her see that pile of luggage! She must have
arrived by train.”
“But why should she be calling _me?_ Hear her calling again! See! She
is beckoning to us!”
“Yes, so she is,” assented Mr. Astley.
“Alexis Ivanovitch, Alexis Ivanovitch! Good heavens, what a stupid
fellow!” came in a despairing wail from the verandah.
We had almost reached the portico, and I was just setting foot upon the
space before it, when my hands fell to my sides in limp astonishment,
and my feet glued themselves to the pavement!
IX
For on the topmost tier of the hotel verandah, after being carried up
the steps in an armchair amid a bevy of footmen, maid-servants, and
other menials of the hotel, headed by the landlord (that functionary
had actually run out to meet a visitor who arrived with so much stir
and din, attended by her own retinue, and accompanied by so great a
pile of trunks and portmanteaux)—on the topmost tier of the verandah, I
say, there was sitting—_the grandmother!_ Yes, it was _she_—rich, and
imposing, and seventy-five years of age—Antonida Vassilievna
Tarassevitcha, landowner and _grande dame_ of Moscow—the “La
Baboulenka” who had caused so many telegrams to be sent off and
received—who had been dying, yet not dying—who had, in her own person,
descended upon us even as snow might fall from the clouds! Though
unable to walk, she had arrived borne aloft in an armchair (her mode of
conveyance for the last five years), as brisk, aggressive,
self-satisfied, bolt-upright, loudly imperious, and generally abusive
as ever. In fact, she looked exactly as she had on the only two
occasions when I had seen her since my appointment to the General’s
household. Naturally enough, I stood petrified with astonishment. She
had sighted me a hundred paces off! Even while she was being carried
along in her chair she had recognised me, and called me by name and
surname (which, as usual, after hearing once, she had remembered ever
afterwards).
“And this is the woman whom they had thought to see in her grave after
making her will!” I thought to myself. “Yet she will outlive us, and
every one else in the hotel. Good Lord! what is going to become of us
now? What on earth is to happen to the General? She will turn the place
upside down!”
“My good sir,” the old woman continued in a stentorian voice, “what are
you standing _there_ for, with your eyes almost falling out of your
head? Cannot you come and say how-do-you-do? Are you too proud to shake
hands? Or do you not recognise me? Here, Potapitch!” she cried to an
old servant who, dressed in a frock coat and white waistcoat, had a
bald, red head (he was the chamberlain who always accompanied her on
her journeys). “Just think! Alexis Ivanovitch does not recognise me!
They have buried me for good and all! Yes, and after sending hosts of
telegrams to know if I were dead or not! Yes, yes, I have heard the
whole story. I am very much alive, though, as you may see.”
“Pardon me, Antonida Vassilievna,” I replied good humouredly as I
recovered my presence of mind. “_I_ have no reason to wish you ill. I
am merely rather astonished to see you. Why should I not be so, seeing
how unexpected—”
“_Why_ should you be astonished? I just got into my chair, and came.
Things are quiet enough in the train, for there is no one there to
chatter. Have you been out for a walk?”
“Yes. I have just been to the Casino.”
“Oh? Well, it is quite nice here,” she went on as she looked about her.
“The place seems comfortable, and all the trees are out. I like it very
well. Are your people at home? Is the General, for instance, indoors?”
“Yes; and probably all of them.”
“Do they observe the convenances, and keep up appearances? Such things
always give one tone. I have heard that they are keeping a carriage,
even as Russian gentlefolks ought to do. When abroad, our Russian